#what do you call a fish without an eye?

[a-thin-layer-of-dust]

A lot of people don't know how gills work.

just sayin. it is apparently not widespread knowledge :(

It's not, like, an automatic thing. The water doesn't come IN the gills, and gills definitely don't just pull oxygen straight from the h2o. What really happens is the fishes or anthropomorphic beings with gills takes in water through their mouth. Then, they separate the oxygen to keep and use, and scrap the rest. THAT is what comes out of the gills. Gills are like a fancy lil method of secreting body excrement, in a way. kinda.

Now. Can fishes (or anthropomorphic beings with gills) breathe out of the water? A lot of fishes can't, but there are actually quite a few that can. (Google mudskipper, it's really cool i promise, they can walk.) Obviously, according the theory of evolution, there is a v e r y long history of fishes learning to breathe on land. Since they are still fishes, they can also breathe underwater. This means that the two are not mutually exclusive.

So TELL ME WHY movies and books always portray it like that????!!!!!

Anyways, I was reading a fanfiction with mermaids in it so i wrote this cuz they got it wrong in there. plus i just think it's interesting.

I am definitely NOT an expert so if someone is and you are offended by misinformation that's maybe accidentally in here pls correct me!

There was a surprising amount of mudskipper gifs available on tumblr.com so enjoy 🐟🐠🦈🐡

[rottingpink]

cod men with fussy wives

cw. fluff, innuendo, cunnilingus, lovemaking, reader is a bit insufferable but she means well. SMUT

synopsis. price, simon and johnny with very naggy wives who show them love and care they've never experienced before

masterlist

john price

john is the typical gruff, stern guy who knows when to be serious, calm, or regulated, but around his wife, all he is is soft. he spends all day gritting his teeth during combat, pushing through with wounds the size of golf balls and scolding recruits when they fuck up, and so when he's on leave for a few days to see you, all he wants to do is relax, make love to you, eat your cooking, and maybe go fishing or do some home renovations. you, however, have a different plan. you're on his ass the second he gets home. not that he minds too much. you're too beautiful to be annoyed at.

he's sitting on the couch trying to eat a biscuit, and you gently pry it out of his hands mid bite. "john, did you take your omega-3s today?"

he signs, hand grazing your hip as you stand in front of him. "no, love. not today. but i used that nicotine patch you told me to use to help with the smokin'."

your eyes light up. "you're using them, darling?"

his heart thuds pridefully at your reaction, like it usually does when you call him darling in that dreamy little tone of voice.

"wore 'em everyday for ya, m'love," he murmurs, reaching for your hips so he can tug you gently to stand between his knees. "damn if i don't like a good smoke, but i like my woman's happiness a little more."

you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his hair, relishing in the pleasant, clean scent. "just a little?"

he laughs, bringing you into a sitting position on his knee. "a lot, love. y'said it's no good for m'lungs, and i wanna be around long enough to see our grandbabies. can't have that if 'm coughin' up ash everyday."

your lip wobbles. "oh john," you coo, lacing you arms around his neck tightly. you're so proud of him that you feel your eyes start to well up. you nuzzle your face into his neck to hide the way you're getting so emotional. you're so proud of him. "there there..." he bounces you in his lap a little to soothe you. "you're the sweetest lil' thing, aren't ya? takin' care of me so good. wouldn't know what to do without you."

you sniffle and snuggle into him so tight that you're nearly suffocating.

he tries to act like the fussing annoys him most times, but really, he relishes in it. he rarely smokes unless he's very stressed and isn't a heavy drinker. after all, you told him, "don't drink if you're looking for an escape from your problems, m'kay? 's what i'm here for."

his health's never been better.

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he's been on edge all morning. one of the younger dogs knocked the sheep pen open early this morning and let half a dozen of them loose, and price has been running around like his head's on fire trying to corral them back inside and soothe the other distressed sheep. he just got back in all sweaty and stressed, drinking a large mug of coffee. then a second. third. on the fourth, you stepped in, suggesting that he might wanna slow down, and he snapped. "god's sake woman, d'you ever let up? i don't need a bloody nanny all the time. enough with the naggin' "

you shut up immediately, drawing your hand back with your brows scrunched.

slowly, you stop asking about his vitamins. stop shoveling extra greens on his plate. stop massaging rosemary oil into his hair at night. you stop. it's relieving for about fifteen minutes. then, he's disturbed. the silence brings him no peace whatsoever. he lasts until the evening of the same day, and he corners you while you're making dinner, hugging you from behind. "darlin'," he murmurs into your ear, mouthing at the lobe.

no answer. he huffs, dragging you against him and pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down your ear, along your jaw, to your throat, where he licks a broad stripe back up to your sweet spot. "c'mon darlin', 'm sorry. you know i get heated fast, hm?" his big hands travel along your body, his left now splaying on your breast, and the right squeezing your hip. "just had a terrible morning, nearly lost our sheep, had to run around like an idiot for an hour... 'n i lost my cool with you. 's not okay, i know."

"hate it when you raise your voice at me, john." you say softly, and his heart just about breaks. he didn't mean to, really. he loves when you're bossy with him. it shows you care and it's incredibly sexy. he'd just been very irate this particular morning. he's been with you years and hasn't complained seriously about the nagging ever, and he's not about to start now.

he squeezes your tit in his palm and kisses your cheek. "i know beautiful, i know. i love you s'much, hm? gonna make it up to you..."

he's on his knees behind you soon after, eating your pussy under your dress while you try to cook. his tongue laps at your soaked hole, causing his beard to get soaked with your juices. the thick hair scratches pleasantly against your folds while the spoon you're holding clatters onto the counter, your eyes fluttering shut and hands scrabbling forwards for something to hold - you settle on the heavy stand mixer ahead of you.

he's apologizing with a mouthful of your pussy, hands squeezing your ass and giving your thighs a little pinch any time you try to close 'em.

" 'm sorry. need you fussin', darling, alright? don't ever stop." your breath hilts each time his tongue drags upwards and flattens over your clit. his nose keeps nudging your ass because his big hands keep you spread wide for him.

you sway a little, thighs trembling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, but all he does is grunt and pull you back against his face harder. "this what it takes t'get you talkin' to me again?" he rasps against your cunt. "fine, i'll eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy 'til you forgive me."

you gasp when he sucks on your clit and tips you forward so you're fully presented for him, tongue fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. the food you were tying to make is long forgotten at this point, but he doesn't care at all. all he wants to stuff his face with anyway is your sloppy cunt.

"john, mmh!" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, but he smacks your ass hard and shoves your thighs wide once more.

"no, no, you'll take it," he grunts. "this is my apology, yeah? let me make it right an' show you how much i love your fussin'. "

you cream onto his face with a loud whine. grinding against his chin and into his mouth, and even then, he continues for a second round, mouthing at your folds and mumbling, "couple more, wife. apology's not done."

johnny "soap" mactavish

johnny's a firecracker and a wildcard. he lives on the edge and likes the unknown that comes with being reckless and unprepared. but when he met, dated, and then married you, he did have to learn to exert some degree of control over himself and his life, because damn you're a very meticulous, bossy little thing. not that he minds. having his woman fuss over him and baby him and give him extra special treatment all day, every day doesn't really feel punishing. your fussing is basically foreplay for him.

you'll tell him, "johnny, you're not going on a run with a level 6 UV outside with no sunscreen on. cmere so i can put it all on you."

"...whatever tha' means."

you frown. "johnny, you're not funny. a level 6 is dangerous. cancerous without protection."

he chuckles. "you just want an excuse to rub y'lil hands all over me, ain' that right?"

"johnny!"

you literally have to tackle him onto the living room floor sometimes to rub sunscreen on his face, because he keeps dodging you and laughing. squirming like a kid while you try to get his ears and nose. "you won't wanna shag me if i've got white goo all over m'cheeks, lass, 'm not havin' it."

"you'll thank me when you don't have skin cancer in twenty years," you huff, massaging the liquid into his cheeks while you straddle him. it's the only way he'll ever sit still anyway. his hands reach up to paw at your hips, and he tilts his head, smiling up at you.

"y'look s'cute on top o' me, don't ya?" he coos, giving your ass a playful slap. you roll you eyes and squeeze his cheek in retaliation, and he laughs and continues. "do y'love me more now that i've been properly slathered?" he teases, raising his brows as you finish rubbing in the last bit of cream.

you kiss his forehead. "only a little."

he smiles. "hm. maybe i should scald myself in the sun so you can love me up more."

"johnny."

"…right, right. responsible. m'havin' a growth arc for m'wife,"

"are you?"

"…no. but m'health has improved dramatically since y'started bullyin' me into slatherin' my skin twice a day."

you lean in so your lips brush his "that's cause i want you around forever, dummy."

johnny smiles softer at your words, tugging you down so your forehead rests on his and his beefy arms wrap around you. "i know," he hums, kissing your lips softly. " 'm not goin' anywhere, bonnie. not if i can help it."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he'd got home only yesterday from being deployed for several weeks. he hadn't seen his loving wife in ages, and the distance didn't do to well on him mentally. he's really not in the mood for fussing. he just needs to eat, fill you up with his cum a few times tonight, and go to bed.

you, however, had been nagging him the minute he came home. needing a breather, he offered to go grab groceries and run errands, hoping that the little break would help him cool off so he didn't snap at you. he's never raised his voice at you, and he doesn't plan on it today.

but when he got back with a dark bottle of bourbon...

"baby? did you only offer to go so you could buy that nonsense? i told you i hate when you drink-"

he interrupts you. "for fuck's sake, can I breathe without you hoverin'? you're not my mum."

you glare at him. not the sweet glare when you're admiring him, or the shy one, or the deadpan one when he does something dumb and you pretend to be mad at him, the angry wife one. oh, he is not a big fan of this look.

weirdly, though, instead of telling him how rude that was and that he knows you're just trying to look out for him, you turn and walk away in an eerie, icy silence. fuck, this isn't good. "bonnie, c'mon. i didnae mean that. c'mere,"

you swat his hand away lightly, deciding you won't be "mothering" him anymore. and so in the following days, you don't tell him to put on sunscreen. you don't pout when he only sleeps four hours. you barely touch him or look at him.

he tries to charm you at first, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his flirting and pretty words, but it doesn't work this time. you don't bite or get on his case or boss him in the way that makes him hard as hell. no shoving his chest when he gets too close or mewling "johnny please," when he teases you. none of it.

you've been eerily polite, and it's driving him mental. on the second day of this, he tries to nuzzle into your neck while you're folding laundry, whispering, "miss you s'much baby, 'm gonna make it up to you properly tonight."

you pull away and hand him rolled up socks. "drawer." he watches you for a moment, hands slack by his sides, socks limp in his grip.

you're distant. johnny's not good with distance from you. the next day, he's extremely restless, wandering around you like a lost puppy in only a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, hoping you'll come put that greasy spf you always fuss about all over him. he even lies out on the balcony chair for a full twenty minutes in the sun just to bait you, but you give him nothing. you do spare him a glance periodically through the glass door, but you say nothing. he ends up with a sunburn on his chest and the bridge of his nose.

that night, when you dont wiggle into his chest like normal or ask if he had a vitamin after he ate dinner, he turns to his side to face you, needing to put an end to your stonewalling. "bon."

you hum. he can't tell if it's acknowledgement or just the sound you make when you're falling asleep.

"c'mon," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. "i wasn't nice to you, i know that. didn' mean to be a dick. just been so stressed 'n on edge 'n i spoke outta turn."

while you're deciding whether or not to believe him, he gets closer, forehead nudging yours. "i'll pour the bourbon down the sink tomorrow," he says quietly. "swear it."

your fingers toy with the hem of his sleep shirt. it's the first time in days you've touched him without pushing him away. "you can drink if you want to." you murmur, twisting the fabric in your hands. " 'm sorry if i'm being overbearing."

"y'not, baby." he kisses your cheek. "just wanna do whatever makes you happy. you're the boss, aren't you?"

you wake up the next morning with his head between your legs, slow and steady, taking his time kissing down your body, from your tummy, to your hip, down to your inner thigh, and then your tender core.

his big palms wrap around the backs of your thighs and pull them over his shoulders, locking you in place while his mouth sucks and works at your pussy. he's so focused that he's making pleased little groans, crotch rutting absentmindedly against the mattress. he's grateful to have you back in his arms and your pussy, dripping and sweet as nectar, accessible to him once more, but he needs to make you cum to really feel forgiven.

he's slow and paced, kissing on you like he's starved. the slow drag of his tongue through your folds and the way his lips close over your clit and suck just softly enough to make your thighs tremble is euphoric, and you find yourself blanking on why you were mad at him to begin with.

his arms are wrapped around your thighs so firm you can barely move. and every time you try to squirm, he groans low and pulls you right back down, nose buried, face flushed and mouth messy. you can feel his beard brushing you, scratchy and warm, and your fingers automatically slide into his hair. "that's it, baby," he mumbles between pussy kisses. "lemme say sorry proper."

you whimper, back arching when he flattens his tongue against your clit and gives it a slow, firm swirl. he just groans again with enjoyment when you close your thighs around his head. he loves being smothered. he doesn't even care if he breathes, as long as you're happy and in love with him. when your pleasure crests and you cum on his face, he licks at your folds firmer, dragging that orgasm out of you. he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now. just soft licks and little kisses, tongue soothing over your puffy folds while his big hands rub slow circles into your thighs.

he doesn't stop until your hand in his hair goes limp. you sigh, letting him kiss back up your body to give you a little break before he goes back for more. he rests on your chest, nuzzling into your flesh gently. "you're forgiven, johnny." you huff, a little tired.

he grins, mouth still wet, eyes gleaming with relief. "thank fuck. boss me all you want, love. swear it gets me hard, anyway."

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley is commanding. he’s the most domineering presence in any room he walks in. makes the greatest of men lower their gaze when he approaches. he's taken down large enemy groups all on his own, has killed men with his bare hands, and… he comes home to you telling him "you can't eat that, baby. it's got monosodium glutamate in it. that makes you sick, remember?" and listens every time.

"…right," he'll say after a pause. "forgot abou' that. what d’you want me to eat then?"

he'd drop the bag of crisps he picked up on his way home with the god forsaken MSG in it the second you mentioned it and would nod. "mm. wouldn' wan' to spoil my dinner anyway, right love?" while gently taking you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

you're not controlling, either. the fussing is very particular. typically just a soft, offhand reminder from the only person in the world who really knows and prioritizes him before anything else. you love him so much and this is part of the way you show it. how could he complain?

you know everything about him, which is huge, considering he is a man of few words and is dreadful at being vulnerable. you know what wrecks his stomach, what gives him headaches, how he gets irritable and loopy when he doesn't sleep at least six hours in the night. you know his favorite clothing fabric and how he just wants to hold you when he's upset.

your voice is so warm and quietly certain that he has to listen every time. once you advise him not to do something, everything in him short circuits. his brute force logic disappears. because you say no, or "you shouldn't si, take this instead," and it's a done deal.

you don't even realize what it does to him, how something as simple as your concern twists itself into a soft knot in his stomach, how it makes him ache, not because you're bossing him, but because you're taking car and watching over him in a way no one else does.

he often glares at you and raises a brow ever so slightly at the way you, a tiny thing with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips just told a tank of a man what to do and expected him to listen.

he does though. listens to your bossy ass every time. and for all his stoicism, the man melts under your fussing.

he's in the shower with you brought that annoying cleanser you insist he needs to use every night and wash it off after thirty seconds because he's got sensitive skin.

"love. this shit's greasy."

"it's hydrating, si. good for your skin. protects the barrier."

"don't wan' hydrating."

you rub into his cheekbones anyway while his eyes are locked on you and his breath comes out slow and heavy. you're standing between his legs in the steam, having him lower his head slightly so you can reach your hands into his short hair once you've finished with the cleanser. you're squinting up at him, so serious as you massage something into his scalp like you're not both bare, soaked, and pressed up against each other.

simon has both massive hands holding your waist while he backs you into a corner of the shower, letting you fuss about exfoliants and scalp health with your tits smushed against his body and your eyes fixed on his face and not his cock nudging against your body, aching and swollen from the sight of you. he's trying to focus but he's so distracted by your body, the way you smell, and how soft you are in his hands.

you tilt your head up, rub a little cream into his hair, mumbling, "gotta keep your scalp health up to par, si", and he loses it.

simon grabs your face in both hands and pushes his mouth against yours, catching you off guard. you squeak into his mouth, and he groans and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, water pouring down both of you, beard scratchy on your chin.

"god," he mutters hoarsely between kisses, "you fuss over me like I’m your bloody housepet."

you let out another noise in his mouth, not knowing if that means he hates it or not, but he nips your lower lip, trails his lips along your jaw and up to your ear. " 's a good thing, love. don't pout."

you moan softly, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck and jaw. the reassurance felt great, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

" 'm gonna fuck you," he mutters, voice cracked with need, hand already sliding down your back to grip your ass. "righ' now. can't take it anymore." you look up through your lashes, lashes wet, lip caught in your teeth.

"but you still have conditioner in," you stare up at him coyly.

"finish after. s'not like 'm goin' anywhere."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

simon didn't mean to snap at you. the harsh tone came out by itself. it's just that he's so tired and sore, joints in his body stiff with exhaustion. all he needs is a breather for five minutes, but you're there by the kitchen counter when he gets home. "hi baby! why don't you start with some of the stir fry i made! dunno if drinking black tea on an empty stomach is the best idea."

normally, he'd melt for your nagging and let you tug the tea bag and mug out of his hands and shove a plate of the lunch you made and a cup of water in his hands instead, and then kiss you stupid for giving a shit, but today, he bristles.

"jesus christ, can i just eat what i want for once?" his voice comes out sharp and cold in a tone he's never used on you before.

you blink, lips parting as you stand frozen in place with the wooden spoon you were using to cook laying limply in your hand. your mouth opens and then closes, and you give him a faint little nod and turn away.

he immediately notices your silence. you're never silent like this, so when you give him a faint little nod and walk off, he knows he screwed up bad. he stews on his stupidity for hours, up until you're laying in bed beside him and not once have you reminded him to put on that charcoal mask you always insist "draws out toxins."

you're just sitting beside him. not even sulking, just indifferent. you know what you're doing, of course. and it's working. he stares at the ceiling for a while, grinding his molars, heart pounding in his chest. he clears his throat in hopes of getting your attention and fails.

"not g'na remind me about the mask tonight?"

you flip a page. "no. thought you didn't want to be nagged."

he winces.

"didn’ mean it like that, sweetheart."

"right." you're still not looking at him or touching him.

he can't survive without your fussing much longer. he doesn't have your eyes on him or your little giggles or your hands all over him and sweet night routines and it's making him crazy.

he sits up and breathes in deeply, before reaching for you quietly. you glance over with confusion just as he peels your book out of your hands. "what are you..?"

he's already tugging you across the bed, laying you down on the bed before peeling off your clothes. "simon! wh-what are you doing?" you glare up at him with confusion, squirming under him as he shimmies your panties down your legs and tossing it to the floor.

"apologizin' to m'wife."

he scoops you up and places you on his face with no warning, your pussy lined up with his mouth. he holds you there, palms spread over your ass, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, before diving in.

he groans like a starved man the second he licks into you. his tongue is slow at first, sliding between your folds, and lapping at your soft, juicy pussy. you're still half mad but you can't stop the way your head tips back as he sucks your clit into his mouth and holds it there. you squeal, bucking your hips to try and get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, but he doesn't let up, tilting you hips up a little so he can slip his tongue into your soaked hole.

he tongues your entrance and licks you open messily, making you squirm into his mouth. you pull at his hair and try to lift yourself off, whining. "s-simon... s'too much..!"

he slaps your ass. "you don't get to leave me like that, love. won't let you be mad at me."

[toytulini]

no more Poasting i have so much shit to do and its already past noon

[qardenofeden]

“kei, do you ever think about how strange it is that we've never fought?” you ask, limbs tangled with his as you cuddle on his bed.

it’s 10:03 PM and you’re doing your best to fight against the chilling, icy atmosphere of tsukishima’s room. for some reason, he likes to sleep like a vampire.

“do you want to?” he offers with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. tsukki doesn’t even open his eyes when he responds, too sleepy to entertain another one of your late night overthinking sessions.

“no,” you say calmly, “but we’ve been together for 7 months. we must either be like, the greatest couple of all time or the exact opposite.”

you feel his chest rise and deflate against your head as he lets an overly dramatic sigh.

you knew tsukishima kei wasn’t one for pda. hell, it was one of the things you loved about him. he knew how to make you feel loved without having to scream it to the world.

like that one time on one of your first dates, when you had accidentally fallen asleep on the soft grass of the park while waiting for his weekend practice to end. you woke up with a hand massaging your scalp.

“how long have you been waiting there?” you giggle, rising from your slumber as you rub your eyes awake. he pulls away, casually avoiding your gaze. “why didn’t you wake me?”

kei only shrugs, “you looked peaceful.”

or that other time you got sick for a week and couldn’t make it to school, so he immediately visited you as soon as you got better and brought his backpack with him.

“i got two copies of all the homeworks due next week, so you don’t have to ask the teachers for them.” he unpacks his notes and fishes out two pens from his bag before turning to you. “come, i’ll teach you everything you missed.”

your teachers praised you for how responsible you were, and told you how much they appreciated that you took the initiative to study.

yeah, you totally did that.

or like right now, and all the other nights you’ve spent at his place. because unbeknownst to you, tsukishima kei sets up his bedroom every single time you visit. he tidies up, cleaning even spots that you would never think to look at. but most importantly, and tsukishima knows this routine by heart, he turns the a/c to the highest setting so you’d be forced to cuddle against him underneath his sheets.

“the former,” is all replies with, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“but seriously though. how lucky are we to never have fought even after seven months.”

tsukki sighs again, before reluctantly revealing, “we don’t fight because i make it a point to always agree with you.”

you’re taken aback by his words, sitting up slightly as you look him in the eyes, though his are still closed as he tries to focus on sleeping.

“...huh?”

“idiot,” he teases. maybe he thinks calling you names will cover up for how unbelievably sweet he’s being right now, “why would i want to argue with you?” he shifts, trying to subtly move his face away so you don’t see him fully.

“but i can’t always have my way, you know. a relationship should be 50/50, right?”

“not ours.” he presses your head back against his chest, and you hear his heartbeat fasten a little. “you’re the boss.”

BONUS: “and you’ve never paid in your life anyway. you don’t believe in that 50/50 bullshit.” “hey!” “i don’t even know what your wallet looks like.”

@kokokoula this one’s for u <3

[sixeyesonathiel]

a treatise on inconvenient attraction — teaser.

pairing — undercover prince satoru x servant reader

synopsis : satoru is many things: a crown prince in disguise, a so-called eunuch draped in silk and secrets, and entirely too clever for his own good. but when you appear in the middle of palace chaos—calm, competent, and wholly unimpressed—satoru finds himself watching a little too closely. you cure what the court physicians couldn’t, ask the wrong questions with the right kind of precision, and somehow manage to look like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once. he tells himself it’s curiosity. it’s duty. it’s absolutely not personal.

but then again, inconvenient things rarely are.

tags — oneshot, apothecary diaries au, fluff, humor, slow burn, sexual tension, secret identities, enemies to lovers, royal court politics, witty banter, eventual smut

a/n: fic has been posted here <3

a calamity of cosmic proportions had just befallen the imperial court—or so the wrenching sobs reverberating through the silk-draped pavilion would have you believe. 

a hairpin, delicate as a poet’s ego, had snapped clean in two, its jade heart fractured like the dreams of a dynasty on the wane. the air thrummed with tragedy, thick with the scent of jasmine oil and the faint, acrid tang of ink from a nearby scholar’s overturned pot, as if the universe itself had taken offense at the ornament’s demise.

at the pavilion’s heart, satoru held court like the star of an imperial opera, his presence a spectacle of calculated excess. 

“it is truly a heartbreak of craftsmanship,” he intoned, cradling the broken shard as if it were a soldier felled in a war only he had the imagination to mourn. the jade caught the morning light, refracting it into mournful glints that danced across the lacquered floor—enough sorrowful symbolism to inspire three ballads, a minor diplomatic incident, and at least one overwrought ode penned by a lovesick scribe. “this was no mere ornament, madam. this—this was a poem carved in bone and stone, an elegy to elegance itself.”

the concubine, lady mei, sniffled with the fervor of a stage heroine, her silk sleeves fluttering like moth wings as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief monogrammed in gold thread. each sob was a performance, perfectly pitched, as if she’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror. her powdered cheeks glistened with artfully placed tears, and the faintest smudge of kohl at her eyes suggested she’d mastered the art of crying without ruining her face.

satoru sighed, the sound heartfelt and entirely performative, a maestro playing to an audience of one. he tilted his head just so, pale hair spilling over his shoulder like moonlight cascading over porcelain, catching the light with a shimmer that felt choreographed.

a breeze curled through the open lattice, lifting the hem of his embroidered robes with such enviable timing it seemed less nature’s doing and more the work of a bribed servant sliding a screen open at precisely the right second. with satoru, either was plausible—nay, probable.

behind him loomed suguru, a study in austere black, hands clasped behind his back with the rigidity of a man bracing for chaos. his expression was carved from stone, all sharp angles and weary resignation, as if he’d been sculpted to endure satoru’s theatrics for eternity. his hair, tied with habitual neatness, let a few rogue strands graze his cheek, like even his appearance knew better than to fully relax in such company. 

his gaze skimmed the scene, heavy with the exhaustion of a man who’d watched this exact farce, with only slight variations in props, more times than the palace cats had stolen fish from the kitchens.

“perhaps,” satoru declared, raising the jade fragment aloft as if offering it to the heavens for judgment, “we must mourn it properly. a vigil, steeped in moonlight? a commemorative tea ceremony, with cups etched in sorrow?”

“a funeral pyre,” suguru muttered, voice dry as the desert beyond the red cliffs. “i’ll fetch the kindling. maybe some incense to mask the absurdity.”

satoru ignored him with the serene grace of a man who’d long since perfected the art of selective hearing, his eyes never leaving lady mei’s trembling form.

“fear not, my lady,” he vowed, dropping to one knee with the flourish of a knight swearing fealty in a tale spun by drunken bards. he clasped her hands, his fingers cool and deliberate, adorned with a single ring that glinted like a conspirator’s promise. “i shall find a replacement—more exquisite, more divine, more… unbreakable. yes, even if i must scour every silk merchant, every jade carver, every whispering bazaar between here and the red cliffs, where the winds themselves sing of lost treasures.”

he let the silence stretch, heavy with portent, as if the gods themselves were taking notes. lady mei gasped, her breath catching like a plucked zither string. a single tear traced her cheek, glistening like a dew-drop on a lotus petal—a prop so perfectly placed it deserved its own stanza.

mission accomplished. satoru’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk, gone before anyone but the narrator could catch it.

behind them, suguru pinched the bridge of his nose with the slow, methodical frustration of a man who knew it would do nothing but give his fingers something to do. his sigh was a silent prayer to deities who’d clearly abandoned him long ago.

when the theatrics finally subsided—lady mei comforted, her handkerchief sodden, the jade fragments swaddled in silk like relics of a forgotten saint—satoru glided from the pavilion with the poise of a swan who knew exactly how devastatingly beautiful he looked mid-stride. he trailed perfume, a heady blend of sandalwood and smug self-satisfaction, curling behind him like incense smoke in a temple to his own ego.

suguru followed, a silent shadow with a scowl etched so deeply it might’ve been carved by a jade artisan. his boots clicked against the stone tiles, each step a muted protest against the absurdity he was forced to endure.

once they slipped beneath a carved archway into a quieter corridor, the performance peeled away like silk robes sliding over lacquered floors. satoru’s spine straightened, the exaggerated flourishes vanished, and he walked with the easy, unyielding grace of a man born to command palaces and bend power to his will. 

the air here was cooler, scented with wisteria and the faint, medicinal bite of herbs drying in a distant courtyard, their bitterness a sharp counterpoint to the corridor’s polished serenity.

“what?” satoru asked, eyes gleaming with faux innocence as he adjusted the sapphire-studded sash at his waist, the fabric whispering against his fingers. “i was being helpful.”

“you were being ridiculous,” suguru replied, his voice flat as the surface of a frozen lake, though a faint twitch at his jaw betrayed the effort it took to keep it that way.

“ridiculously helpful,” satoru corrected, flashing a grin that could outshine the emperor’s polished jade throne. he flicked open his fan with a snap, the painted silk catching the light like a peacock’s tail, waved it twice, then forgot it entirely, leaving it to dangle like an afterthought.

suguru shot him a sidelong glance, more sigh than stare, the kind of look that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken retorts. 

now that the mask had fallen, subtle details sharpened into focus: the glint of satoru’s ceremonial earrings, small but forged from gold so pure they whispered of plundered kingdoms; the way his sleeves, just a touch too long, brushed the corridor’s tiles with a soft, deliberate drag, like a painter’s final stroke; his hair, nearly waist-length, swaying like a silk banner unfurled for a procession, catching the latticed sunlight in a cascade of silver.

“a hairpin emergency,” suguru deadpanned, his voice slicing through the air like a blade through silk. “you skipped a logistics meeting—where, might i add, we were discussing grain shortages—for a hairpin emergency.”

“it was tragic. deeply symbolic. that hairpin was the fragility of desire itself, suguru,” satoru said, his tone lofty, as if lecturing a particularly dense pupil. he gestured with the fan, now remembered, its arc as grand as a courtier’s bow. “a metaphor for the fleeting nature of beauty, shattered in an instant.”

suguru glanced skyward, seeking divine intervention from a heavens that had long since stopped answering. 

the corridor stretched before them, vermilion pillars rising in regal procession, their surfaces carved with dragons that seemed to smirk at the absurdity below. sunlight filtered through the screens, painting latticed shadows that danced over the tiles like a secret script only the palace walls could read.

“and your grand plan to unravel the true nature of court politics,” suguru said, each word measured, “involves… hosting interpretive grief sessions for concubines over broken accessories?”

“the best disguises become second nature,” satoru replied, winking with the confidence of a man who’d never doubted himself a day in his life. “besides, would you rather i play the stuffy prince, droning on about grain quotas and tax ledgers?”

suguru didn’t respond, which, to satoru, was as good as a standing ovation.

they turned a corner, the air shifting as they passed a courtyard where a fountain burbled, its water catching the light like scattered pearls. a pair of palace cats, sleek as whispers, darted across their path, their eyes glinting with the smugness of creatures who answered to no one. 

a servant, her robes the muted gray of dawn, bowed deeply as they passed, her gaze fixed on the floor, though the faintest tremble in her hands suggested she’d heard the hairpin saga and was bracing for its inevitable sequel.

and beneath it all, beyond the red walls and silk screens, something stirred. not fate—not yet. but close, like the first ripple on a still pond, or the faintest creak of a palace gate left ajar. 

for now, there was only satoru, strutting like a peacock in the emperor’s garden, his voice lilting, his feathers flashing in the sunlight—and suguru, the poor bastard doomed to trail him, shoulders squared, expression grim, half a pace behind like the world’s most disapproving shadow, forever caught in the orbit of a star that burned too bright to ever dim.

the palace hummed with a frenetic buzz—not the charming, festival-lanterns-and-rice-wine kind, where moonlight glints off sake cups and laughter spills like cherry blossoms, but the swarming, fretful, everyone’s-talking-and-no-one’s-hearing kind that screamed someone important was either sick, scandalized, or both. 

lucky for the court, it was a two-for-one special: the emperor’s favored concubine, lady hua, had taken ill, and the whispers swirling through the vermilion halls were ripe with intrigue sharp enough to cut silk.

it began with fainting spells, delicate as a willow branch snapping under snow. then came the headaches, each one described with the reverence of a poet lamenting lost love.

by the time rumors slithered to satoru’s ears, the court physicians had added skin lesions to the list—delicate ones, naturally, because heaven forbid a woman of the inner court suffer anything less than poetic. “female temperament,” the physicians declared with the smugness of men who’d never questioned their own brilliance, waving it off as a trifle. “probably just the summer heat, thickened by her delicate constitution.”

maybe it was. maybe it wasn’t. but satoru was bored—a state as dangerous as a spark in a lacquered pavilion when paired with his curiosity and the kind of power that hid beneath shimmering silk like a blade in a jeweled sheath.

he sprawled across a divan like a cat claiming its throne, pale hair spilling over the brocade cushion in a cascade that caught the lantern light like spun silver. “i want to see her,” he said lazily, one hand dangling over the edge, fingers brushing the cool jade inlay of the table beside him.

the air carried the faint sweetness of osmanthus from a nearby brazier, undercut by the sharp bite of ink drying on a discarded scroll.

suguru didn’t look up from the scroll he was pretending to read, arms crossed over his dark robes like a disapproving older sibling teetering on the edge of committing murder by eye-roll alone. his hair, tied with a cord of black silk, gleamed faintly in the slanted light, as if even it resented being dragged into satoru’s orbit.

“the emperor hasn’t summoned you,” he said, voice flat, though the faintest twitch of his brow betrayed his dwindling patience.

“that’s the beauty of being a fake eunuch,” satoru replied, already rising with the fluid grace of a dancer who knew every eye was on him. his robes—silver threaded with blue embroidery, obnoxiously tasteful—shimmered like moonlight on a still pond, the hem brushing the polished floor with a whisper. “every door swings open if you smile just right and flash a bit of charm.”

suguru exhaled through his nose, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken curses. “your highness, court gossip is beneath your station.”

“nothing is beneath my station when i’m playing eunuch,” satoru chirped, swiping a rice cake from a lacquered tray as he sauntered toward the door. he popped it into his mouth, the sesame seeds crunching faintly, and shot suguru a grin that was equal parts mischief and menace. “in fact, it’s half the fun.”

and just like that, he was gone, robes flaring behind him like a comet’s tail, leaving a trail of sandalwood perfume and impending chaos. 

suguru muttered a curse under his breath—something about peacocks and their inevitable reckoning—and followed, because someone had to keep the idiot from plummeting headfirst into disaster.

what they found at lady hua’s quarters was chaos distilled into a single, suffocating room. maids scurried like ants fleeing a crushed nest, their silk slippers whispering frantically against the floor. 

physicians argued in hushed but venomous tones, their sleeves flapping like indignant birds, while someone—likely a junior attendant—sobbed into a brass basin, the sound muffled but piercing. the air reeked of camphor, sharp and medicinal, tangled with the cloying sweetness of sandalwood incense and the sour undercurrent of barely-contained hysteria. 

a breeze from an open screen carried the faint tang of lotus blossoms from the courtyard, but it did little to ease the oppressive weight of the room.

satoru leaned against the doorframe, one hand languidly fanning himself with a jade-inlaid fan, its painted silk fluttering like a butterfly’s wing. the other hand rested lightly on the fan’s hilt, fingers tracing the carved dragon as if it might whisper secrets.

he looked like a man at the theater, idly amused by a tragedy he had no stake in—and to be fair, he was. his eyes, sharp as a hawk’s beneath their lazy half-lids, scanned the room with the casual precision of someone who missed nothing.

then his gaze snagged on something—or rather, someone.

you.

in the heart of the maelstrom, you were an island of calm, steady and still as a stone in a raging river.

you weren’t dressed like a physician—no embroidered insignia, no silk badge pinned to your belt like the pompous healers squawking nearby. your robe was simple, utilitarian, the color of weathered slate, its sleeves pinned up past your elbows to reveal forearms smudged with the faint green of crushed herbs. 

you crouched beside lady hua, movements quick, efficient, precise, as if the chaos around you was merely background noise to be tuned out. the room bent around you, maids and physicians alike giving you a wide berth, like you were the eye of a storm they dared not cross.

satoru straightened, just a fraction, the motion so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone but suguru. his fan slowed, the silk shivering in the pause.

“who’s that?” he murmured, voice low, the words curling like smoke as he tilted his head, pale hair slipping over his shoulder like a waterfall of moonlight.

suguru had already clocked you, his arms now crossed tighter over his chest, the dark fabric of his robes creasing under the pressure. his jaw tightened, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. “not a court physician. not officially,” he said, each word clipped, as if he resented having to state the obvious.

“well,” satoru said, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts intrigue and trouble, “now she’s interesting.”

you were wrapping lady hua’s wrist in linen soaked in something pungent—fangfeng root, if satoru’s nose didn’t betray him, mixed with the bitter bite of yanhusuo and a faint trace of ginseng. old-school herbs, the kind not dispensed in the palace’s pristine apothecary but ground by hand in shadowed apothecaries far from the emperor’s gaze. 

your fingers moved with the deftness of a musician, tying the linen with a knot so precise it could’ve shamed a sailor. beside you sat a worn wooden box, its corners scuffed from years of travel, but its contents were meticulously organized—vials labeled in a script too small to read from the door, tools gleaming faintly in the lantern light.

satoru’s eyes narrowed as he watched you work. your movements were too clean, too practiced, like someone who’d stitched wounds in the dark long before stepping into a palace. 

lady hua groaned softly, her face pale as the moon, and you pressed your fingers to her pulse, murmuring something under your breath. there was no softness in it, no coddling, just the calm precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing—and didn’t care who saw.

and then—your eyes.

they flicked up, not to the patient, not to the bickering physicians, but to the room’s edges. to the guards in their lacquered armor, their spears glinting like threats in the corner. to the doors, half-open, where shadows shifted in the corridor. to the windows, where the lattice cast jagged shadows across the floor. 

your gaze moved like a soldier’s, mapping exits, calculating distances, noting every potential threat with a speed that was almost instinctual.

satoru felt a thrill crawl up his spine, sharp and electric, like the first crack of thunder before a storm.

“she flinched when the guards shifted,” he whispered, his fan now still, its silk drooping like a forgotten prop.

suguru’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a storm cloud gathering behind them. “trauma?” he asked, voice low, testing the word like it might bite.

“training,” satoru replied, folding his fan with a slow, deliberate snap, the sound cutting through the room’s din like a blade. “she’s not afraid of chaos. she’s afraid of uniforms. of order that isn’t hers.”

he glanced at you again, and this time, you felt it. your shoulders stiffened, just for a heartbeat, as if you’d sensed a predator in the room. 

you didn’t look up, didn’t meet his eyes, but the way you angled your body—back to the wall, never cornered, one hand hovering near your box like it held more than herbs—told him everything. 

your kit was no mere healer’s tool; it was a survivor’s arsenal, scuffed and worn but as familiar to you as your own skin. the faint scar on your knuckle, barely visible, gleamed like a silent boast of battles won.

“is that why you’re smiling?” suguru asked, his voice bone-dry, cutting through satoru’s thoughts like a knife through silk.

satoru didn’t answer. not aloud. but oh, yes, he was smiling, lips curved like a crescent moon, because the emperor’s concubine might be fading, her breath shallow as a winter breeze.

but you?

you were alive—vibrantly, dangerously alive, a spark in a room full of smoke. your every movement screamed secrets, and your eyes held a story no one in this palace had the guts to read. 

lady hua’s illness might’ve been the court’s obsession, but you were something else entirely—a puzzle, a threat, a flame flickering just out of reach.

and satoru, with his boredom and his power and his peacock’s flair, had just found a problem worth solving. the air thrummed with it, heavy with the scent of camphor and intrigue, as the palace walls seemed to lean in, whispering of the chaos yet to come.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Cat Conspiracy

The Cat Conspiracy

Damian Wayne had tracked assassins across continents, dismantled crime syndicates before breakfast, and fought rogue AI while still managing to ace his Latin homework.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for Danny Fenton.

Specifically, Danny Fenton and his suspicious pattern of visiting pet stores all over Gotham, emerging each time with an armful of cats.

Damian narrowed his eyes from the rooftop across the street as Danny exited The Purring Palace with five cats in various shades of tabby draped across his arms, a smug little smile on his face.

Damian’s voice was a low growl in the comms. “Grayson. I’ve got eyes on Fenton again. He’s acquired more felines. That’s the third pet store this week. Something is afoot.”

Across the city, Dick let out an exaggerated groan. “Maybe he just likes cats?”

“No one likes cats that much. Not without a nefarious purpose,” Damian replied, dead serious.

“Damian, buddy, you live with eight trained attack bats and a demon dog. Let the kid have some cats.”

“I will not rest until I uncover his scheme.”

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton was indeed up to something.

He wasn't robbing banks or raising a ghost army or even stealing Gotham's supply of tuna fish. His plan was, in fact, adorably petty.

“Here you go, Mr. Meowser,” he whispered as he tucked the newest stray into a box carefully prepared with toys, a mini litter pan, and an engraved name tag. “You’re going to love your new home. It has three fireplaces, heated floors, and a man who pretends to hate you but secretly buys you imported kibble.”

He grinned as the box closed.

Operation: Furry Revenge was going purrfectly.

After all, if Vlad Masters—billionaire fruit loop, obsessed with power, and frequent thorn in Danny’s ghostly side—was too busy dealing with the ever-growing clowder of feline freeloaders mysteriously showing up at his mansion, then he’d have zero time for evil schemes.

Better yet, Vlad hadn’t sent a ghost assassin after him in weeks. The last thing he’d screamed over the phone was, “Daniel, I am not a cat café!”—right before the line went dead and the sound of a kitten meowing played faintly in the background.

Success.

Vlad was unraveling.

He now owned no less than thirty-two cats, each with names like “Princess Fuzzums,” “Waffle,” and “Mr. Stabby.”

They appeared out of nowhere.

Well, not nowhere. Always in tidy, clearly handmade boxes, addressed to him, complete with vet records and gourmet food recommendations.

He’d tried to be mad. He’d tried to find the source. But the cats... they purred.

One had curled up on his chest and started kneading at his robe while purring like a chainsaw, and now she had a bed on his desk and he dictated business emails around her nap schedule.

He was losing the war, and the worst part? He was starting to like it.

Damian had enough.

He dropped down from a rooftop like an avenging shadow as Danny exited yet another pet store with a fluffy ginger kitten perched on his head like a crown.

“I knew it.”

Danny screamed and nearly dropped the kitten. “What the hell?! Do you practice dramatic entrances?”

“You’ve been acquiring cats for a dark purpose,” Damian said, voice cold and accusatory. “I demand to know what you’re planning.”

Danny blinked at him. Then grinned.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a long-term plan to neutralize a billionaire supervillain through the power of feline responsibility?”

Damian stared.

Danny kept going. “I call it Operation: Claw and Order. My target now owns thirty-two cats. That’s roughly thirty-one more than he emotionally admits to loving.”

“…You’re weaponizing cats.”

“Yes,” Danny said, very proud.

Damian folded his arms. “…Interesting. I approve.”

Danny blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I would’ve used snakes, but your method is arguably more insidious. If you require assistance in continuing this campaign, I can connect you with Selina Kyle. She has... resources.”

Danny cackled. “Oh my god, is this what friendship feels like?”

“No,” Damian said immediately. “…But I’ll help deliver the next batch.”

And just like that, Gotham’s weirdest alliance was born: the half-ghost boy with a vengeance plan powered by kittens, and the Bat’s youngest, most terrifying son.

Vlad never knew what hit him.

But his cats were very well-fed.

[lymtw]

Deceiving Dreams

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Toji woke up sweating, a foul feeling in his chest after what he just dreamt. You were the star and your co-star was not him, but some random dude who was way too comfortable with touching you. His hands would brush over your shoulders and your thighs like he was familiar with your body, but what was absolutely stomach churning, was the way he kissed you softly and slowly. You didn't even push him away, instead you reciprocated the gesture. You did the sweet things that you only do with him, like smiling at this man in that way that makes wonder brim your eyes. You kissed the corner of this stranger's lips, on the same side that Toji's scar is on, coincidentally, and you wrapped your arms around this stranger with that same amount of hesitance you show Toji, as if this person you've known for mere minutes summed up the butterflies and electric feelings your lover makes you feel in that short span of time.

Toji hasn't been this unsettled by something regarding you since the time you cried during an argument that spiraled out of his jealousy. Things got out of hand, but since then, he's learned that he can't do things that way with you. He can't shut you out, and he can't snap at you or you will crumble to the ground.

Patience is a hard thing to learn, and though being with you has taught Toji how to be more careful with his words and to be understanding of your struggles to communicate certain things, at the end of the day, he's still learning. How does anyone deal with this kind of thing in a gentle and unassuming manner? He can't just spring such a question on you without it rubbing you wrong. "Are you cheating on me?" No. That is a recipe for disaster and just asking for unwanted distance. You wouldn't do that to him. He knows it, but that dream... It just seemed so real.

Hey, ma. You awake?

It's two in the morning, and you probably won't answer, but as Toji lies there in his bed, waiting for a response from you, he realizes he can't wait to hear from you, so he does the next best thing—he calls you.

The line rings a couple times, and by the third time, he's ready to end the call before he gets sent to voicemail, deeming his reason for pulling you out of sleep so early in the morning to be ridiculous. It was a dream. You're not cheating on him. You wouldn't do that to him. He knows this, yet, here he is, trying to sleep in your bed with you, like a child who woke up from a nightmare, tiptoeing over to their parents' bedroom.

"Hi, Toji," you answer, your voice quiet and slightly raspy with sleep. "Toji?" You call, again, when you get nothing from him. "Are you okay?"

He feels somewhat embarrassed for having woken you up for this, but if the deed has already been done, then he needs to make the most of it.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm doing just fine. Everything's fine. Listen, would it be alright if I came over?" He asks, already sitting up and getting out of bed.

"It's a little late, isn't it? It's..." you hum as you quickly check your phone, "...two seventeen," you respond, trying your hardest not to nod off as you lie comfortably on your side, your phone placed between your ear and your pillow, again.

"I know. I'm sorry. You don't have to wait up for me, though. I can let myself in. You gave me your spare, remember?"

You blink, tiredly, and remain silent for a few seconds until Toji calls for you. "Yeah, okay, then. Drive safe. It's raining really hard."

"Will do, mama. I'll see you soon. Love you."

"Love you," you mumble, before hanging up the phone. You went right back to sleep, afterwards. The sound of the rain pouring outside was soothing and the coldness that came with the weather made the perfect contrast to the warmth of the blanket you bundled yourself in.

Toji got to your place twenty-something minutes later. His hoodie was heavily spotted with the raindrops it caught during the walk to your front door from his car. He fishes out his keys from his pocket and looks for a shiny, bronze key on his keyring. Once he has it, getting into your warm home goes smoothly. From taking off his shoes and setting them beside yours, to removing his hoodie so that the wetness doesn't touch you, he moves quickly. He doesn't stray from his path to finding you, not even to grab a snack from your kitchen cabinets like he normally does, no matter the time—he just goes straight to your room.

When he opens the door, Toji is met with nothing more than the adorable sight of you curled up in bed, like a puppy sleeping peacefully under a heap of toasty blankets. He shuts the door behind him, quietly, and moves swiftly, but carefully, so that he doesn't wake you up before he even starts crawling into bed with you. He gently lifts the blanket off the vacant side of your bed, and slides into his place beside you. Instantly greeted by the warmth you generated, he feels the urge to pull you into his arms and just hold you all night.

"Sorry, baby. I know i'm cold," he says, softly, when you stir at the iciness of his fingers dragging up and down the side of your neck.

You blink your heavy eyes open and take in the sight of Toji right in front of you. Him calling you wasn't part of a hyper realistic dream, he's actually in bed with you.

"What's wrong?" You ask, concerned for his reason for wanting to be there in the early hours of the morning, rather than just waiting until later on in the day. You had plans to meet, anyway. What is so important that he couldn't wait until then?

"It's nothing to worry about. Just wanted to be here with you," he responds, not totally lying, but also not telling the whole truth.

"Remember what I told you when we first met?" You mumble, not satisfied with the vagueness of his response. There seems to be more that he isn't telling you.

"You said a lot of things to me that day," he responds, with a low chuckle.

"I did," you agree, smiling softly at the memory. "I also told you something important that day, didn't I?"

You watch the contemplative expression on his face, the outward appearance of his brain whirring. It's cute, even in his handsomeness. "Do you want a hint?" You ask, though when you see his eyes widen a little, you know he won't need it.

"You're better at listening than you are at talking," he recites, with a smirk, like he's patting himself on the back for being able to remember.

"Right. So, if there's something wrong, I want to know about it. I know i'm not the best conversationalist, but you know that I always try for you."

Now that you're more awake, Toji doesn't feel so heartless for handling you like you're merely a teddy bear, so that you're lying on top of him. He wants you close to him all the time, but when you say things like that, he instantly feels the need to bring you closer. It's pure instinct by now.

"You ever get tired of me just scooping you up out of nowhere?" He asks, lips curled in amusement as he watches and feels you wiggling around, trying to make yourself comfortable. Finally, you rest your head on the upper part of his chest and let your arms go limp beside him.

"Never," you respond, simply, smiling when a low chuckle rumbles out of Toji's chest.

His arms tighten around you a little more when the room goes silent, and then he remembers why he's here. He can't lose this. Your warmth, your careful affection, the way you constantly look at him like he's the reason the moon and the stars shine at night. He never wants you to look at him another way. There's absolutely nothing hard about loving you, and if you can't believe it on your own, he'll prove it to you.

"You know how much I love you, don't you, doll?" He asks, his palms finally warm enough to work as heating pads for your back.

"I do," you assure. Maybe this is his concern—that he's not showing you enough love. No, that can't be it. If that was it, he would've waited until later on in the day to see you and talk about it.

"And how much I need you? Do you know that, too?" To that, he doesn't get a response from you. He knows you aren't sleeping, because he can feel your legs shifting against his every once in a while.

"Doll?" He calls.

You let out a soft breath, before responding with your truth.

"I don't know if you need me, Toji. When you tell me you love me, I believe it, because I feel it and I know it, but I don't think you need me."

"Don't..." he sighs, not expecting this as a response from you. "...don't say that. Don't you dare say that. What does that even mean? Because I don't fucking get it. I really don't, ma."

Your heart rate picks up a little, but you try to keep yourself as calm as possible. You understand that this isn't something he wants to hear, as the one who's helped you through so much, but you can't help but share how things feel on your end.

"Don't you ever think about how much better it would be for you to love someone who makes things easier on you rather than overcomplicating them? Someone who tells you what they want straight up, instead of having you basically pry the words from them?"

Toji stays quiet this time, not because he agrees, but because he's figuring out how to say things without it being explosive. He knows that those few seconds of relief will be followed up by a tidal wave of regret. It's not worth it. You're his little sunshine and he would never forgive himself if he was the reason for why your light died out.

"I love you, Toji, but I think about that a lot. I want you to know that if you ever get tired of me-"

"Don't finish that sentence," he cuts. "I don't wanna hear it."

There's no playfulness or warmth to his tone. Nothing but the weight of his words. Your heart feels a little heavier, but you brush it off and utter a phrase that you're all too familiar with.

"Sorry."

You feel nervous, and not in the "good" way. Not in the way that makes your cheeks heat up and your stomach swarm with butterflies, but instead the way that makes your chest feel strange, and like there's a knot forming in your throat.

"I don't wanna hear that either, doll," Toji says in response, his tone softer, now, his thoughts collected. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. You know I love you." He presses a kiss to the top of your head and rubs the center of your back in soothing motions. The silence that returns makes your heart beat even faster. You wonder if Toji can hear it through the lack of sound in the room.

"I had a really stupid dream," Toji finally confesses, a low, humorless chuckle vibrating against his chest. "I mean, really stupid. Can I tell you about it?"

"You don't have to ask, baby," you respond. Your cheeks go warm at your use of the pet name, but it felt right in the moment. Maybe this is what's been lodged in his mind this whole time. You want him to feel as comfortable as possible as he recounts it to you.

Toji smiles softly at the term of endearment you used for him. Somehow, the way you said the word made it sound softer and even more cushioned than it already is.

His arms readjust around you, tightening the perfect amount so that you're secure against him and he can feel more of your body's warmth on his. He peppers a few more kisses on the top of your head before going on to tell you about his dream.

"So, I kind of just spawned into a room where you and some random guy were sitting on a bench, and he was getting really touchy with you. His hands were rubbing your thighs and your shoulders and..." He pauses. This is his least favorite part. He didn't like any part of it, but this part took the cake, because no one kisses your lips but him.

"It's okay," you say, encouragingly. You rub his side a few times and endure a squeeze of his arms—the equivalence of a rush of emotional support in a gesture.

"Well, you and him started locking lips, and it looked like you were really enjoying it. Your eyes were sparkly and you were smiling at him all pretty." He sighs, bothered anew, the same way he was when he first woke up. "See, I told you it was stupid," he grumbles, mildly embarrassed. "Obviously not stupid enough for me to sleep in my own bed for the night. It's fucking ridiculous. Sorry, doll."

You utter another phrase you're all too familiar with—not one you say often, but one you hear from Toji plenty.

"Don't apologize," you murmur. A few seconds pass, and you know just what to say. "Toji?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

You say it like it's as easy as breathing, because it is. There's nothing hard about loving Toji. He's good to you. It's a love you've never experienced with another, and you do your damn best for him, which is why him showing up at two a.m. isn't a problem. Him crawling into your bed, and reaching for you with hands that are cold as ice isn't a problem. He needs comfort this time, and all you can do is hope that the way you console him is enough.

"Only you, and that's how it'll always be. Your brain thought it would be funny to trick you, but it grayed on the fact that I suck at talking to people."

That made him snicker. It wasn't a reaction meant to ridicule you, rather one of immediate relief, due to the confirmation you gave him about his place as your only love.

"Not that i'm interested in pursuing others, but how am I gonna go for someone else, when I can barely talk to you?"

Now that made him full on chuckle, and you just lay there on him, withstanding the crushing sensation of his arms squeezing you impossibly tighter. You fear he might break you, but you would endure that momentary loss of breath any day if it means his heart remains whole.

"God, I love you so damn much," he murmurs, low against the top of your head. "I love you," he says, pressing yet another affectionate kiss to the area. "And I need you. I want you to understand that by... now. I need you to understand it, right now, baby."

"I don't think that's how it works," you say, humming out a soft laugh.

"Well, we're gonna make it work. Alright? You're gonna understand how much I need you."

"Okay," you say, resigned to his perseverance.

"Okay?" He repeats.

"Yeah," you confirm, lips curling, amusedly.

"Yeah?" He copies once more, knowing it'll grant him one of his favorite little sounds from you.

You giggle. "Yes, Toji."

With that, he's flipping you over, his position expressively dominant, now. It's dark in your room, so you can't really see much, but you can make out most of his handsome features, and you can feel his body heat embracing you, just as much as it did a few seconds ago. His hands are planted right beside your head and he's peering down at you, smirking at the way you look at him, like you haven't caught up with how he handled you so delicately yet efficiently to switch positions.

"You always look so pretty under me," he murmurs, leaning in closer. You in so that you see nothing but him. His hands ball up the sheets beneath them, carelessly wrinkling them as he remains merely inches above you. You slowly release the breath you've been holding in. "You mad at me, baby?"

"No," you answer, trying to remain calm, despite the heat that is beginning to seep into your face. "You've done nothing for me to be mad about, so why would I be mad at you?"

His lips press against the lower part of your cheek—a deep kiss right above your jaw. "'Cause i'm kinda dumb and do shit like this. I woke you up, and now you're losing sleep," he murmurs, against your skin.

"It's okay, Toji," you gently reassure. "I understand and I'm not mad at you." Your hands come up to his back, tentatively, feeling the body warmth that seeps through his shirt.

"No?" He asks, pressing a soft kiss closer to the corner of your lips. "You promise?"

As if trying to further comfort the giant hovering over you, you rub his back in gentle motions.

"There's nothing to be mad about. You've done nothing wrong and you're always welcome here, love." You smile when he continues planting little kisses on your cheek while you keep talking. "You have my spare key, because I trust you and I have nothing to hide from you. If giving you that key means you show up here in the early hours of the morning, because you don't want to be alone, that's okay, too. So, yes, I promise i'm not mad."

A low hum comes from Toji as his kisses inch towards your lips. A few land on the corner of your lips, then he's just a little bit off, and then finally, his lips center on yours. You feel butterflies begin to flutter around your stomach as he collects kiss after kiss from you.

"You tired, pretty baby?" He asks, his voice only audible between you and him. Not even the thin walls of your room can take away the intimacy.

"I wanna be awake with you," you respond, your voice matching the low volume of his.

"You sure?" He asks, and you do your best to convince him that you are. Your hands pull away from where they once rested on his back and you raise them to cup his cheeks with slightly shaky hands. Your touch is gentle, maybe even a little hesitant, as you begin to slowly stroke the softness of his skin. This is one of the very rare times when Toji accepts your actions in place of your words.

Your thumb brushes over the scar on his lips, and before you can even process it, his lips are on yours, again. You can feel the flourishing warmth of his face beneath your palms as he kisses you with an unexpected amount of fervor. You hear soft panting from him, as a result of him hungrily chasing kiss after kiss from you. He challenges your lungs, letting them feel a slight burn when he doesn't pull away after you've reached your limit. It's not until you're breathing heavily that he lets you go, and begins to scatter soft kisses along the side of your neck.

"Baby," he hums against your neck, leaving another kiss behind. "My sweet, pretty baby. How do you do it?"

"Do what?" You ask, smiling as he continues to let his lips feed off the warmth and softness of your skin.

"How do always manage to keep things so peaceful?" He responds. His heart beats slightly faster when you release a precious laugh at the question. "Things are just... so damn simple with you," he says, softly, as he goes lower down your body. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and begin to slowly roll it above your stomach. He instantly takes note of the goosebumps that rise when his palms graze your bare skin.

"I know how much you try for me, and fuck, i'm not dismissing your effort, but I also want you to understand that it's not hard to treat you right." His hands grip your waist, loosely, and he leans in to place a kiss on your stomach.

"There's nothing hard about being with you..." he murmurs beneath your ribs, "...and waiting for you. You aren't difficult like you think you are, sweet girl."

"You promise, Toji?" You ask, glancing down at him as he continues leaving kisses on your skin.

"I promise," he assures, meeting your gaze as he presses another kiss right beneath your chest. "You want me to stop?" He asks, aware of the lack of coverage for your chest under your shirt.

"You can keep going," you respond, willing yourself to relax under his touch. He doesn't waste any time, and immediately buries his face in your bare chest. For a moment, there's no major movement coming from him, just his breathing. You think maybe he's just savoring the warmth that you've accumulated after spending hours under your blanket, but he full on melts into your body. His arms go beneath you, allowing him to wrap around you tightly once more, and he releases an audibly heavy sigh.

"It's okay," you say, softly. You keep one hand on his upper back, while the other gently plays with his hair.

He's not sure if he deserves the tenderness your touch holds for him. He tries to be as gentle and careful with you as he can, but he's so scared that one day you'll shatter and it'll be his fault. You'll walk away from him with no intention of ever coming back and something that was so good to him will be gone. You deserve to be happy—always. He knows this, but he doesn't want to picture somebody else making you happy like he does. He can't accept that. You're his girl.

"Toji?" You call. You know your little place isn't the most high end of them all, but you also know that it's not falling apart. There's no way for the rain to reach your skin if there's no hole in your roof.

"Toji?" You call once more when he doesn't answer. Your hands still on him when you feel his shoulders stutter. You have your own glum cloud resting on top of you. You feel something wet land on your chest—it's starting to rain a little.

"It's okay," you whisper, resuming the gentle motions on his back and the back of his head. "It's okay." You feel him begin to leave languid, spaced out, featherlight kisses on your chest, and you want to freeze. You want to express how impactful the gestures are, and how they animate the butterflies that reside in your stomach, but you can't. You can't and you won't do it, because it's your turn to prove that you'll take care of him when he's not at one hundred percent.

"It's... it's gonna be okay. I have you," you assure, feeling the softness of his hair between your fingers as you repeatedly thread them through, and the movement of his back beneath your other hand as he breathes. "And you will always have me, and I love you with all my heart, Toji. I need you to understand that, right now," you tease, lightheartedly, echoing his earlier words back to him in an attempt to make him feel better. You hear a congested sound, something between a laugh and a hitch in his breathing.

Not another sound is made for the next few minutes, no words spoken. Your skin catches a few more of Toji's tears as he continues to brush his lips against the entirety of your chest, reveling in the warmth of your skin. Toji can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest—the way it always is whenever he's around you. Normally, he teases you about it. 'Your heart's gonna explode if you don't calm down.' 'We don't even have to do cardio to get your heart going.' Sometimes, he just holds his fingers against the pulse point on your neck and laughs at the rapid thrumming against his fingertips. He finds it endearing, but right now, it's a comfort.

You don't mind the occasional slight pinch of his lips—the more physical proof of his appreciative affection. You simply remain focused on soothing him and reassuring him of how strong your love for him is and will always be.

"Don't know what I'd do without you, ma," he mumbles, his cheek resting on your chest. He could fall asleep so easily to the sound of your heartbeat in his ears, the feeling of you playing with his hair, and the way you slowly rub his back, but he's torn between staying where he is and coming back up to hold you close through the rest of the early morning.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere," you assure, wholeheartedly.

With that response, Toji makes his choice. He pulls his arms out from beneath you and sits on his knees, between your legs for the quick second it takes him to fix your shirt. After, he lifts the blanket and reclaims his rightful spot beside you.

"Come here," he murmurs, pulling you into his arms without an ounce of struggle. He waits for you to settle, back against his chest, before fully enveloping you in his warm embrace.

"It sounds like pebbles hitting the roof instead of raindrops."

"Mhm," he hums, into your neck, letting his hand slide beneath the front of your shirt to caress the soft skin of your abdomen. "If your roof starts leaking, you're coming to stay with me." It's not a question or an offer.

You laugh. "The rain isn't that bad."

"Mm..." His lips home to your shoulder, a gentle peck placed on the concealed area. "Love seeing your pretty face first thing in the morning. You stay with me if your ceiling ever caves. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, through a giggle. "You'll be my first call."

"Good," he murmurs.

"I'll make you breakfast later, when we wake up."

And though Toji responds with, "Sounds good, ma," all he can think about is how you're going to struggle so hard to get out of bed because he's going to make it nearly impossible for you to do so. The gears are already turning in his head. He'll pin you down, he'll strengthen his hold around you, he'll roll on top of you "in his sleep". You're too polite for your own good, you most likely won't try to wake him up. He'll swaddle you in the blanket, he'll tie your shirts together in a tight knot-

"Goodnight, Toji," you mumble, feeling your tiredness return as he continues drawing little lines and shapes on your stomach.

"'Night, baby," he murmurs, feeling much more content and at peace with the idea of sleeping knowing that you're in his arms, not in anyone else's.

[yan-randomfandom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Side Quest

"Okay, we're sitting here doing nothing for twenty minutes already," Tim crumbles the burger wrapper in his hands, absentmindedly trying to shape it into a sphere just because he needs to keep his hands busy. "Care to spill why are we here?"

"We ain't doing nothing," Jason doesn't even look up at him — isn't that a surprise — instead leaning back in his seat. He doesn't take his eyes off the window. Tim hates sitting by the windows in BatBurgers, it always makes him feel like a fish inside the aquarium.

"That's exactly the point," he debates if he should throw his misshapen missile at his brother. Not like it will get any more sphere-like, anyway.

Jason rolls his eyes and spares Tim a quick glance, "No, I meant, we are not doing nothing. We're waiting."

"Waiting for what, the second coming of Jesus Christ?" Tim succumbs to his heart's deepest desires and throws the wrapper at Jason. It hits him right in the forehead, score for Tim. And yet, the man still doesn't rise the the bait; instead, the motherfucker laughs. It's quiet and breathless and short, but it's still a laugh.

"Close enough. Has anyone ever told you you're the most funny when you don't intend to be, Timberly?" Jason smirks at him, and Tim really wishes he's had something else to throw at him. But at this point, his options are only the table and chairs, seeing that he's already wasted the wrapper, and he doesn't want to cause an actual commotion. Yet.

So he leans back, mirroring Jason's position, and crosses his arms on his chest. "I'll take it as a compliment," it's a weak retort, but he doesn't have the energy to come up with anything better. The recent murder case, one involving a sorry excuse of a cult, an out-of-town drug dealer and, by some crazy twist of events, three nuns from Missouri, has been driving him nuts for the past week, sue him.

He so regrets asking Jason for help right now. It's not even the matter of his dignity — it's just that Jason is not helping, and most likely, doing it on purpose.

"Please, do," the unhelpful asshole gives him his grand permission, turning back to the window. But, a second later, his whole face lights up like Christmas came early, and he sits up, "Oh, there he is!"

In the next moment, the door to BatBurger slams open, and in steps... a guy.

Black hair, blue eyes, lanky, slim build — makes sense why Jason never mentioned him before, Bruce would have flipped his shit at the sight of an unadopted Bat-bait.

Worn denim jacket with rolled up sleeves, black t-shirt underneath, loose pants and sneakers — nothing out of the ordinary, really.

Except the guy has a fucking crowbar that he carries on his shoulder, and both the tool and his hands all the way up to his elbows are drenched in something dark red and wet. Tim would say it's blood, but then, would the guy really be showing up here covered in blood?

On the second thought, it's Gotham. He definitely would.

The guy looks around and wrinkles his nose slightly when he spots Jason. Then, he makes his way towards their table, the crowbar still on his shoulders.

"'Sup," he greets Jason, and as he stops right in front of the table, Tim sees that it's not only his hands that are stained with red. There are splatters of it on his face and neck as well.

"You've got something on your cheek," Jason gestures to his own face, trying to show where said 'something' is. The guy throws him a deadpan look and then licks it off without second thought.

His tongue is a lot longer than it should be. Tim takes a deep breath, looking between the bloody dude and Jason. He really hopes that his face is expressive enough for the latter to read the 'what the actual fuck' through his eyes alone.

"Okay, just so you're aware, an absolutely marvelous kind of high school reunion had to be put on pause because you called," the guy starts, wiping one of his hands on his jacket. "So, like, explain your fuck-up situation to me in ten words."

Jason, the absolute traitor, looks to Tim. The guy follows him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Okay, ten words. He can totally do that.

"A sacrificial pentagram of dead nuns high on mystery cocaine," Tim says after a moment, looking the guy straight in the eyes.

He blinks. Then, he tilts his head sideways, like he's not sure if he heard Tim right. Tim just keeps staring at him — that was precisely ten words, and he is definitely not chickening out of this little-shit-superiority contest.

"O-kay," the guy finally says, slow and begrudgingly respectful, "I'm eighty seven percent certain this is about to be the highlight of my week." He gestures for Jason to move over and drops the bloody crowbar on the table before sitting just opposite to Tim.

"Spill."

[hoesoflamentation]

⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊ toji fushiguro x f!reader, 18+

// content warnings for babysitter!reader x boss!toji, age gap, power dynamic, fingering, oral (both m&f receiving), rimming (f receiving), p-in-v sex, daddy kink, size kink, spanking / slapping

" W E ' R E headed for another heat wave! Rising temperatures have led to a heat advisory, so blast that air conditioning and stay indoors."

That meteorologist didn't need to tell you twice: you were already sweating in your strappy sundress. Despite both an air conditioner and a fan, the air was thick with the haze of summer.

The TV blasted the weather report in the background as you sat on the floor, coloring with little Megumi. He grasped the crayon in his tiny fist, wearing a serious frown that reminded you of his father.

You reached for the remote to change the channel to a children's show, then leaned over Megumi's shoulder.

"Whatcha drawing, buddy?" you asked curiously.

He scowled and hunched over the drawing protectively.

"A picture for my dad," Megumi grumbled.

You smiled.

"I bet he'll love it," you replied cheerfully. "Maybe he'll even hang it on the fridge."

For the briefest of moments, the dark cloud over Megumi's head lifted.

“…maybe," he agreed reluctantly.

Before long, playtime was interrupted by the sound of turning locks and heavy footsteps.

Megumi's father, Toji Fushiguro, walked into the living room and slung his bag and hard hat onto the floor. He was still dressed in his work clothes, covered in a fine layer of sawdust and sweat.

"Hi Daddy," Megumi greeted without looking up.

Megumi was still intensely focused on his artwork, his brow furrowed as he scribbled. He didn’t even seem to notice when you rose to your feet, leaving him the only one still laying on the floor.

Toji rubbed his scarred mouth, doing his best to hide a smirk.

"Hey, kid," he greeted. "What are ya drawing?"

"I made you a picture." Megumi stared up at his father with bulging, round eyes. "Do you... like it?"

"Nah," Toji teased.

Megumi's face fell. Toji chuckled and ruffled his son's hair before dropping the punchline: “I love it. I'm gonna hang it in my locker at work. All the guys will be jealous."

Megumi beamed. Meanwhile, you seized the rare opportunity to sneak a glance at Toji, blushing at the way his sweaty shirt clung to his bulging muscles.

When you first started nannying for the Fushiguros, you were terrified of Toji. Soon, however, you realized that no matter how intimidating he looked, Toji Fushiguro was nothing but a big teddy bear when it came to his son.

As cliche as it was to admit it, you could say you had developed a little bit of a crush on your boss.

“Oh, right,” Toji blurted.

He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled handful of fifty dollar bills.

“This is for you, for this week…and last.” Toji cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks for understanding. About the, uh, money thing.”

You tried not to stammer as your face flustered.

“Really, Mr. Fushiguro, it’s no problem… watching Megumi is my pleasure.”

Toji frowned, his face crinkling in the same genetic pattern as his son’s.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Y/n?" He rolled his eyes. "Call me Toji.”

Your cheeks burned while testing out the moniker.

“R-right… uh, Toji.”

Truth be told, you had been avoiding using his first name. It was dangerous to let yourself get too attached; dangerous to give into a fantasy that would never, could never, happen.

Toji cocked his head. He eyed you curiously as you stood before him, open-mouthed. You were too flustered to even consider what he could be thinking about.

“…well, take care of yourself, Y/n," Toji finally said.

You nodded in agreement as you gathered your things with a hard swallow, giving Megumi a pat on the head in parting.

“I’ll be back on Monday, alright?”

Once again, Megumi didn’t look up from his artwork. He had pushed aside his first drawing: an assignment from school, to draw a picture of his family.

Stick figure versions of both you and Toji stood on either side of Megumi, both of you holding his hands and wearing big grins. The sight of it made you smile, then frown.

You wondered how Toji would feel when he noticed that Megumi had included you in his “family portrait.” It had been a long time since Megumi had lost his mom, but you sincerely hoped you hadn’t overstepped any boundaries.

Well, at least one person didn’t seem worried. Now, Megumi was scribbling what appeared to be a dog in black crayon.

“See you later, Miss Y/n,” Megumi said, without so much as a blink.

You shook your head with a smile and gave him a little wave. “Bye, Megs.”

As you turned to head out the front door, you were interrupted by a beefy forearm thrust against the wall, painfully close to brushing the bare skin of your exposed shoulder.

Goosebumps broke out along both of your arms as you looked up at Toji from beneath your lashes. He wore a serious, almost threatening expression, tracing his tongue along his lower lip like he was tasting blood.

Your heart raced as his breath blew warm and sweet against your face. You could almost taste a faint hint of breath mints mixed with tobacco smoke; could almost smell a tantalizing whiff of his musky cologne.

“Um, did I forget something?” you mumbled bashfully.

The moment you made eye contact, Toji seemed to break out of whatever trance he was in. He blinked hard and took a big step back.

“Uh, no. Just… stay cool out there.” Toji awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, muscles flexing underneath his sweaty shirt. “Heard this week’s supposed to be a scorcher.”

You folded your arms across your cleavage, stopping your hard nipples from peeking through the eyelet lace of your dress. Hot as it was, Toji’s attentive gaze sent shivers down your spine.

“Yeah," you exhaled breathlessly, "I’m feeling hot just thinking about it.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

On Monday, the cruel sun continued to blaze even as Toji was getting home from a long day’s work outside. And for the first time since leaving his criminal past behind, he felt bloodthirsty.

Something about the way those denim shorts hugged your perfectly-round ass had him pinned by the throat… or, more accurately, wanting to pin you by yours.

You were chasing after Megumi and his friend Yuji, playing a game of 'floor-is-lava,' when Toji arrived home.

When you bent down to scoop up Megumi in a playful airlift, Toji wondered if this was a special kind of torture invented just for him. After all, the only thing that could possibly make him want you more than seeing you bend over in that outfit was seeing the way you acted with his kid.

You were so caught up in the game that you didn’t even notice Toji come home until Megumi said something mid-air.

“Hi, Daddy.”

You gently placed Megumi on the ground, dusted off your skimpy outfit, and flashed Toji those innocent doe eyes of yours.

“Welcome home, Mr…" You swallowed, then rephrased: "-um, Toji.”

Toji. Hearing you finally say his name, after months of telling you to stop calling him damn “Mr. Fushiguro,” was the last straw.

It was all he could do to push away the intrusive thoughts of you breathlessly screaming his name — Toji, Toji, Toji! — as he plowed into you from behind…

…was it just him, or had the air conditioner stopped working?

But before Toji could say anything to save himself, the neighbor’s brat Yuji ran up to him and pulled on his pants leg.

“Hi Mr. Fushiguro!" Yuji exclaimed with a grin. "Want to play 'the floor is lava' with us?”

Toji couldn’t take the heat anymore. He had to do something.

“Sorry, kid, can’t," he grumbled. "Got to talk to Miss Y/n for a second.”

Megumi suddenly ran out from behind your legs and tugged on his dad's pants.

“Can I come with you?” he mumbled, barely audible.

Yuji jumped up and waved his hands around, seeming to fill the whole room with his clumsy limbs. “Me too! Me too!”

Toji ruffled Megumi’s hair with a chuckle.

“Not this time, kid," he said fondly. "Got to talk about grown-up stuff. Go hang out with Yuji in your room.”

Megumi heaved a sigh.

“Okay... Come on, Yuji.”

Megumi grabbed the pink-haired boy’s hand and dragged him up the stairs. Yuji stumbled after him, making no effort to lower his voice as he questioned, “What do you think they’re going to talk about? Do you think they’re going to kiss?”

Toji’s cheeks burned as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry ‘bout him," he mumbled. "I appreciate you watching ‘em both.”

You shifted awkwardly. “I don’t mind. At least Megumi seemed to have fun.”

Nervously, you took a step closer. “So... what did you want to talk about?”

Your voice shook slightly, as if you were afraid to get in trouble. Toji, on the other hand, knew he was already in deep. You were close enough now to give him bad ideas, like reaching out to put his hand on your thigh, or slowly sliding it up higher…

Toji cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s-“

Well, shit. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“-it’s about your outfit,” he blurted.

You cocked your head slightly. “My outfit?”

Your voice took on a teasing tone. “I didn’t realize you were into fashion, Toji.”

And Toji hadn’t realized you were such a brat. Your attitude only made his body temperature climb even higher.

You were exactly his kind of woman - minus about 20 years. And here you were walking around, teasing him, with no idea what you were doing to him.

It had to be some kind of cruel punishment, delivered straight from God himself. Toji was growing impatient.

“I don’t give a shit about fashion, Y/n," he fired back. "I called you here to ask you what the hell you were thinking, wearing that to work.”

“This, really?” You raised your eyebrows, squirming uncomfortably under his intense stare. “It’s just shorts and a T-shirt.”

‘Just’ shorts and a T-shirt? Yeah, right.

“You call those shorts?" Toji snorted. "They barely cover your ass cheeks.”

His eyes lingered on the hem a moment too long, the borderline pornographic way the denim rode up between your soft, fleshy thighs.

“And that shirt is practically see-through.”

Toji's gaze traveled up your torso, fixating on your supple breasts and hardened nipples underneath the thin white fabric...

...he found it infuriating. How could you not have noticed what you were doing to him? How could you not have expected it, when you left the house looking like that - looking like a chew toy ready to be torn into shreds?

You gulped. Toji must have scared the shit out of you, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. In that moment, he swore you deserved it.

“I’m sorry, Toji-“

“Sir,” Toji interrupted, unable to help himself. “Call me sir.”

You might have been confused by his mixed signals — after all, he had asked you to call him Toji a million times — but if you were, you didn’t let it show.

Your reply came out as a mere whimper: “Sorry, sir.”

Fuck. The breathless tone of your voice sent shivers down Toji’s spine.

Toji turned to brace himself against the kitchen countertop, making a pathetic effort to conceal the hardening bulge in his jeans. His knuckles went white as he gripped the marble with the same force he wanted to use to pin your wrists against his headboard.

“...go home, Y/n,” Toji finally choked out, his voice low and hoarse. “And wear something different tomorrow. Unless you want me to do something stupid.”

Wide-eyed, you nodded hard, quickly gathering up your things and clutching them close to your heart. You made a beeline for the door, while Toji stood frozen in place, chest heaving.

He half-expected you to quit right then and there. But before you could rush out the door, you turned over your shoulder and called out, “See you tomorrow, sir!”

The door slammed behind you, and Toji let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as he moaned into his hands.

"What the hell is she doing to me?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You figured Toji probably didn’t mean it. After all, he was ten years your senior, and probably much more experienced.

When you woke in the middle of the night, sheets drenched in sweat from the unbearable temperature, you wondered if it could have been some kind of shared fever dream brought on by the heat wave...

...but even knowing you were hallucinating didn’t stop you from riding the hell out of your vibrator. For what felt like hours, you whimpered Toji’s name until you eventually drifted back to sleep.

Your heart raced with anxiety as you showed up to work the next day and rang the doorbell.

Awkwardly, you tugged at the hem of your too-short skirt and skin-tight camisole, wondering if you should throw on the extra shirt you had thrown into your bag this morning - just in case you changed your mind.

Had you mistaken him? Had you taken Toji’s words too close to heart; decided to hear only what you wanted to hear?

The door swung open, and Toji’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists at his sides.

You waited in the scorching heat for what felt like an eternity, sweat beading on your back as the sun beat down on your exposed skin.

Then: “Remember what I said to ya yesterday?”

You nodded, knees suddenly growing weak.

Toji dropped his head and swore, running a calloused hand through his shaggy hair.

“Fucking hell, then…” He laughed as if in disbelief, then looked up at you with a hungry smirk. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

In an effortless swoop, Toji picked you up with one arm and tangled the other in your hair. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively while he backed you both toward the bedroom, feeling his enormous bulge press into your stomach as he parted your lips with his own.

Toji kissed you hard and deliberately, as if he had carefully planned out each stroke of his tongue - as if he had been rehearsing this moment for weeks in his head.

“Wait, what about Megumi?” you asked breathlessly as Toji threw you down on the mattress.

“Still asleep,” Toji growled into your neck, nipping at your earlobe.

You nuzzled into his chest to hide your smile as Toji, your boss, left violet marks on your shoulder…

Coming to work early had certainly paid off.

“Dunno what the hell I’m thinking, messin' with a girl this young-“ he grumbled into your skin, licking stripes down your neck as his other hand slid under your top.

“-damn, Y/n - no bra?” You yelped softly as his rough fingers began to toy with your nipples. “Ya really came here begging for it, huh?”

Your cheeks burned hot as you realized there was no more denying how intentionally you had planned this moment… but Toji only laughed, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“A stronger man might’ve fired ya, y’know,” he murmured into your skin.

Toji forced his knee between your legs, coating the denim in your slick.

“Fuck, no panties, either?" He shook his head and laughed. "Girl, you’re either brave or crazy.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, turning to hide your embarrassment in Toji’s satin sheets.

“Sorry?” Toji scoffed. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t make me laugh.”

In an unexpected move, he kissed you sweetly, allowing his lips to linger; a string of saliva connecting you even as he pulled away.

“You’re gorgeous, ya know that?" Toji snorted at his own thoughts. "And I’m...probably old enough to be your dad.”

You furrowed your brow, absentmindedly trailing a hand down Toji’s clothed spine.

“I don’t think of you as old," you gulped, avoiding his eyes. “But...you’re probably a lot more experienced than I am.”

Toji snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about impressin’ me, girl.”

You glared at him stubbornly as a shit-eating grin crept its way onto his face. Of course he was right, but you weren’t about to let him know that.

A sharp breath escaped your lips as Toji rolled on top of you. One hand pinned your wrists above your head; the other bunched the hem of your tank top under your breasts.

“Sweetheart," Toji hummed, "lookin' like that... you couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”

He leaned down and pecked you on the lips for emphasis.

In one skilled maneuver, Toji flipped you onto your stomach and pressed his weight down on top of you. One hand reached around to roughly tug at your breasts, while the other lifted your skirt to expose your needy little cunt.

Soon, you found yourself babbling nonsense, tears threatening to burst as the worn-down pad of his finger circled your throbbing clit. Each of his touches seemed to know exactly what your body needed, as if he reached deep inside your subconscious to pull it out.

“That’s it, girl… let it all out,” Toji whispered into your ear, hushing you as you cried and moaned into the downy pillows. “Daddy’s got ya. And he’s gonna take good care of ya.”

He tongued your earlobe as you reached clumsily behind you to palm at the bulge in his jeans. You weren’t surprised that Toji knew exactly how to push your buttons… but what did surprise you is the way he groaned at even the slightest of your touches, hips bucking away from you as if every stroke of your hand made his skin burn.

“Hmmm, that’s not fair, Y/n,” Toji hissed between gritted teeth. His breath grew quicker and shallower with each of your sultry movements. “I’m not finished with ya yet.”

Toji dug his claws into your sides and pulled your arched hips up to meet his mouth. His enormous hands covered your ass cheeks as he spread them for a better view of his meal.

Toji groaned as he licked a long stripe from front to back, lapping up every last drop of the juices that threatened to drip onto the bedsheets. At the top, he prodded his tongue into your untouched asshole, relishing the way your tight walls puckered and clenched around his strokes.

“Fuck, Toji - more, more, more!” you mewled, drool running down your chin and into his pillow.

Toji chuckled into your puffy mound, his sweet vibrations sending a jolt between your legs. Your legs trembled as he plunged two fingers into your dripping cunt, a stream of your juices leaking onto the bedsheets. He kissed and kneaded at your luscious ass cheeks, hugging your thigh with one hand and eagerly trying to stuff every last drop of slime back inside with the other.

“Such a sloppy thing,” he babbled into your thigh. “Makin’ all this fucking mess f’me…for your daddy.

He palmed your ass, then hit it with a smack that reverberated through the walls.

“What should I do with ya, hm?”

You whimpered as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, slapping your other ass cheek as he devoured your pussy.

“Should I let ya take my cock for a ride? Ya want big, bad ‘Mr. Fushiguro’ to fill ya up?” Toji cooed mockingly.

You were helpless to do anything but moan and rut your hips as Toji backed away from your cunt.

You rolled onto your back, leaning back on your elbows. Strings of your slick stuck to his stubbled chin, Toji made a big show of wiping it off with his thumb and stuffing it into your open mouth.

“C’mere, sweetheart," he said, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Show me how well you can suck."

Toji kneeled and unbuckled his belt as you leaned forward on all fours, tits dangling below your bunched-up shirt.

His cock sprung from his jeans, girthy and veiny and throbbing - and already leaking from the tip. You swirled your tongue over his head like a lollipop, mopping up every last drop.

“Hah, fuck, darlin’… you make that look too easy.” Toji smirked down at you as he pushed your head onto his length, thrusting back until his mushroom tip brushed your tonsils. “C’mon, I know ya can take more of it than that.”

He chuckled, tangling his hand in your hair, as you gagged on his pulsating shaft, your slobber pooling with the dark tufts of hair crowning his base.

“That’s it, girl, hah-“ Toji squeezed his eyes shut as yours bulged with the force of his thrusts. “Ah, fuck… you’re lost on boys your own age, ya know that? Ya telling me you’ve been runnin’ around givin’ head like this? To some fuckin’ kid who couldn’t even find a fuckin’ clit?”

Between slurps, you squeezed out a reply: “No, mmpf- this is just- hah- just for you, Toji- mmmph.”

"Fuck, Y/n." Toji pulled back, releasing his cock from your lips with a pop. He wrapped his hand lightly around your throat and gazed directly into your eyes. "Don’t go saying shit like that…. Daddy’s still got work to do, yeah?”

He leaned down for a sloppy kiss, filling your mouth with the taste of you. You were pretty sure you heard him mumble something like 'too pretty' into your lips — but to be honest, you were already too dizzy with the thought of his cock splitting you open to remember anything else.

Toji pulled you onto his lap. You straddled him, hovering anxiously over his fat tip as your heart thudded in your ears.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Toji murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I know ya can take it...nice ‘n’ slow...”

Both of you gasped as you lowered yourself onto his shaft, his wide girth stretching your gummy walls. Every inch left you aching for the next one as you slowly tested his length, flooding around him.

“Tojiii,” you found yourself whining, in a desperate tone that made you sound like a stranger to yourself, “you're too big.”

Toji snickered. “Heh, not even halfway in and already begging for mercy?”

He slowly lifted his hips, pushing himself another inch further into your needy cunt.

“Thought you were better than that, darlin’," Toji teased with a grin.

You glared at him and, spitefully, sunk further down. Both of you gasped at the obscene squelching noises your pussy made as it gushed around his width.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Toji sighed. “Ride it just like that, mama.”

He dug his enormous fingers into your fleshy thighs, easily using you to milk his shaft. You dug your fingernails into his biceps, whimpering as he took one of your neglected breasts into his mouth.

Toji’s teeth grazed your nipples as he growled into your skin, bouncing you on his cock with an increasing sense of urgency. You felt yourself melt around him, a haze clouding your vision as your ears started to ring.

“Mmm, Toji, ‘m close,” you purred, closing your eyes as he released your tit with a pop.

From the cracks in his cool facade, you could tell Toji was approaching his high, too.

“Yeah, hah- I bet you are,” he teased with a chuckle. “You’re, mmf- a sensitive little thing, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You bit down on his shoulder, hiding your face in his muscles.

“Ah, fuck- what’s wrong, darlin’?” he teased cruelly.

Toji started to massage your hip creases with his thumbs, making you moan.

“Is this- hah- too much for ya?”

Too dizzy to speak, you nodded. He hummed, as if that were the answer he had been looking for.

“Oh, sweetheart," he laughed meanly, "I’m barely even touching ya.”

Toji thrust his hips upward, his dick curving into your cervix in a way that had you seeing stars. You bucked your hips, trying to run from the intense sensation, but he held you tight and pushed you down harder until electricity started to gather between your thighs.

“You telling me it’s- hah- this easy to make ya cum?” Toji stroked and pulled at the coarse hairs that crested your mound, his fingers inching dangerously close to your swollen clit. “At least give me a challenge next time.”

His palm rested on the soft pouch of your lower belly, thumb hovering over the sensitive nub. You let out an involuntary whine as his heat warmed your core.

“Talk t’me, girl," Toji hissed. "Is this what ya wanted?”

“Fuck- yes, Toji, that! Exactly that-“

The words barely escaped your lips before Toji pressed his thumb against your throbbing center, making quick, tantalizing circles over the hood.

Despite yourself, you were surprised that a man so rough knew how to be so gentle. Even as his cock was tearing you apart from the inside, Toji was able to control his touch just so.

You thanked him for his service by forcing him to bottom out inside of you, his balls hitting your slit with a wet ‘slap!’

“Shiiit, mama, that’s-“

Toji squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on your waist with one hand. His other hand pressed down on the bulge in your stomach as his thumb kept up a consistent rhythm.

“Speechless?” you mocked.

Toji let out a deep rumble of frustration. “Nngh- think you’re cute, huh?”

He brushed his lips against yours, captured your lower lip between his teeth, and pulled back slowly.

“Shut up and cum for me, little girl.”

Toji gave your clit a punishing smack, and you felt your toes start to curl.

“Gonna cum,” you hummed.

“You on the pill?” Toji mumbled, nipping at your throat.

You nodded, your clit throbbing in anticipation of your imminent release.

Toji grinned maniacally. “Want me to cum inside f’you, sweetheart?”

His question alone was the final push. Your hole swelled around Toji’s thick shaft, dripping creamy fluid into a puddle around his base.

“Gonna, nngh- gonna take that as a yes,” Toji breathed as your clit shuddered beneath his touch.

“Yes, fuck, yes, cum in my pussy, fuck, cum with me, daddy!” you babbled mindlessly, tears and drool streaming down your fucked-out face in a sloppy concoction.

“Heh," Toji laughed, strands of hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. "As you wish, pretty girl.“

As if you weighed nothing, Toji wrapped his arms around you and folded on top of you. He lifted your legs atop his shoulders to plunge deeper inside of you, the veins in his muscular arms straining as he pants into your mouth, his swollen cock stretching the limits of your plush walls.

Streams of his warm seed flowed into your cunt as Toji closes his eyes, strands of black hair clinging to his forehead with sweat.

“Mmph!”

You were caught off guard as Toji violently captured your lips with his own. As he kissed you, you dared to wrap your hand around the back of his neck, pressing your forehead against him, watching him intently as he painted your walls white.

Without moving, or tearing his gaze away from yours, Toji hissed, “If you leave this bed, I’ll fire ya…do I make myself clear?”

The weatherman was right: this week was gonna be a scorcher.

a/n: i've been waiting for warmer weather to post this... well, it's HOT AF where i live this week, so i figured it's finally the time! i promise the final installment of short 'n' sweet is up next, i just thought i'd post this to hold you all over while you wait. hope you enjoy the treat xx.

[melodyofmbaku]

Mind Your Manners (Smoke Moore x Annie/Reader)

First line was was actually inspired by a line in this fic by @szatears, please check it out :)

Preview: “I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you."

Word Count: 2.25k

Warning ⚠️: Strong Sexual Themes + Smut (18+ Material)

A/N I watched Sinners yesterday and pumped this fic out today. I'm back in my writing era 🤠💁🏾‍♀️ ___

If there was one thing Smoke didn’t like, it was an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

So when the man who had skipped town 4 years ago appeared on your door step you knew he’d have something to say about you kissing your teeth, huffing and rolling your eyes. 

“What are you doing here Smoke?"

He took a drag out of his cigarette.

 “Now that ain’t no way to greet a man Annie.”

Your eyes slid over him. He was covered in a tailored tweed 5 piece suit and his bulk couldn’t be hidden. Thick arms, a broad chest and a wicked smile with golds peaking out. 

Smoke Moore. Nothing better. 

You took him in. 

“Ain’t you gonna let me in?” He grinned and leaned on your door frame. 

You squinted your eyes at him. Thoughts of that night at the Juke years ago surfaced. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“You ain’t never needed me to do that before.”

He sucked another mouthful of smoke from his cigarette. And blew it towards you. Your eyes watered a bit and you glared, gripping the doorframe tighter. 

“Maybe I need you to now.” There was a beat. 

“You don’t need an invitation. You just come and go as you please. I’ve given up on trying to keep you away. It’s a waste of time.”

He smirked something fierce. 

“Yeah you right. I was just fucking with ya.”

He flicked the cigarette into the grass and pushed past Annie, not without placing his paws on her body to maneuver her out of the way. 

One hand grabbed her waist, the other palmed her heavy breast before squeezing past her and into her quaint home. 

Smoke had it made for her. For them. 

One of the last things he did for her before he skipped town. 

——

He’d picked her up from her rotten daddies house and told her to pack a bag. He strapped her into that car and drove them over to the tiny plot of land he’d procured. And there it sat, a little home. 2 bedrooms and a “kitchen meant for cooking” as he called it. 

He held her as her eyes watered and whispered. 

“You like it baby girl? It’s yours. You ain’t never gotta worry bout a place to lay your head again.”

And there they spent the next 2 days holed up and christening the house. Even the kitchen meant for cooking. 

_____

Smokes eyes took the place in. The small house he’d bought, you’d made it into a home. You brought in an ice chest and had decorated it, your personality showed in every corner. 

He smelled bacon on the stove and the nostalgia hit him like a brick. 

“You making greens?”

“What’s it to you?” You replied with your back turned towards him. 

He loved your greens.

You didn’t know what to do with him back in your space. You felt activated. Didn't know whether to run to him or away from him.

You took a deep breath and composed yourself. And turned around only to see him fishing for a cigarette. 

“Don’t you smoke that shit in here.” You snapped. 

He looked at you and paused before nodding and sliding the pack back into his jacket pocket. 

He lifted his hands up. 

“You’re right sweet girl. My bad. I know you don’t like that in the house.”

“Thank you.” You whispered to yourself. Feeling relief at the inch of control you had gained back. 

He knew you thought it was a nasty habit and if he wanted to smoke, he’d have to do it outside your home. 

Say what you wanted to say about Smoke, he knew how important this space — your home — was to you. And you didn’t want anyone to ruin it. Even the man who built it for you. 

“Why are you here?” You asked. 

“We’re back now. I’m back now. For good.”

You scoffed.

“What you had all your fun? Running around Chicago with your brother? Fucking all them northern whores?” You sneered. 

His eyes watched you. You hated how they could see right through you. You weren’t jealous. You were hurt. 

His eyes glowered. “Watch your mouth.”

How could he just give you the best few days of your life and just leave without a trace? Leaving you to hear news about him and his brother through the grape vine. 

How dare he tell you what to do?

“Or what?” You snapped back. This was 4 years of pain. Of hurt. Of anger. 

“What, you tired of them? Wanted to swing back on down and fuck your southern whore too? Taste the mother fucking rainbow?”

“You not no whore Annie.” He warned again. 

Your eyes shimmered with angry tears. 

“How you know I wasn't up and down these streets? You not the only one who likes to fuck.”  You snapped back. 

He smirked a knowing smile on his lips. 

“You wasn’t fucking these niggas. You forget that I know you. You wouldn’t let em get a chance.” 

And you hated him because it was true. 

“Fuck you Smoke.” You spat. You could almost see the vein pop from his temple. 

Smoke didn’t like an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

“I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you. 

You backed up against the wall. Fiery defiant eyes staring back at him. 

He bullied his way into the space between your plush thighs. Sticking his face into your neck and breathing deeply. He kissed you.  Once. Twice. 

“Why are you back?” You whispered brokenly. 

He ignored your question and worked quickly to push your dress over your thick hips. 

“You weren’t ever this rude before Annie.” He mused while manipulating your body to be exactly where he wanted it to be. He knew your body like the back of his hand. You was his and nobody else’s. 

That was law. 

His fingers found your sex and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. 

Smokes fingers stroked between your folds before sliding into her. The wetness soaked his fingers immediately. 

He kept his eyes on your face. He loved the faces you made. And right now your head was thrown back and your plump lips parted slightly. 

Quickly the sound of the small home was filling with deep breathing and whimpers. 

“Why? Are you back?” You managed to breathe out between moans. 

Was he here for good or was he just passing by? 

“I must not be doing a good job if you still asking me all these questions…” he mused. He added another finger for good measure. 

Unfortunately, that did shut you up. 

He took the other hand and palmed at your breast and tweaked a nipple and you groaned deeply. 

He smiled, nothing but pure joy on his face. 

“You ain’t have nobody here to tell you… to teach you your manners. That's why I came back.” He stated. 

He bent his fingers within you once before sliding out and replacing them with his tongue. 

He expertly licked into you. Letting your essence coat his lips. 

Smoke loved him some you. When he had his fill he stood up and captured your lips in his. 

You tasted yourself on him. 

He looked down at you. You were thoroughly debauched. “You ready for me?” 

You nodded lazily, you could barely think straight. Smoke liked you this way sometimes. Pliant and easy. He could move you any which way he wanted. 

He graciously turned you around and pressed you into the wall. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now princess. And you gon’ like it.”

“Yes daddy.” You whispered and that’s what drove Smoke to press himself right into you, and he felt you stretching to accommodate him. 

Now it was his time to groan. 

“Fuck.”  He spat out. 

You giggled. That didn’t last long as he pulled out slowly and thrust back in with intention. 

That giggle turn into a graphic sound he would file away for later. You were so responsive for him. 

There you began your dance. Smoke began a slow and intentional rhythm. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear the entire time. 

Still your question persisted despite the pleasure filled fog which filled your head. 

“Why you back Smoke?” You managed to whisper. 

He grunted. You wasn’t letting this go. Could he blame you? 

He changed his pace, to something more punishing. Something that would make you forget you were angry with him at all. 

“Why? I needed to set you straight. That’s why. Remind you of how to act right.” He thrusted after each sentence. 

Your moans got louder with every thrust. But he kept his pace. 

“You got this attitude because I ain’t been here to fuck it outta you. And for that baby I was wrong.” He crooned into your ear. 

“It’s my fault.” He stated. 

He pumped into you relentlessly. And you took every thrust like a champ. 

“Blame me mama.” He whispered. It almost got quiet in the room.

The unspoken "not yourself" conveniently omitted from the end of his sentence. Just two bodies doing a dance as old as time. 

He reached over to grip your breasts again and pluck at your nipples. 

Your broken moans filled the space. He knew your body like no other. You were made for him. 

“That’s right.” He encouraged, he loved to hear you. 

“I’m back now baby. Daddy’s here and he’s gonna take such good care of you.” He breathed heavily into your ear. 

You were overcome with emotion. Your eyes watered. Was that a promise? You couldn’t do another broken promise. 

“Don’t you say that Elijah. Don't you dare lie to me. I can’t take it anymore.” You panted out. 

“You’ll take what I give you.” He snapped. 

Why was he like this? Why did you love this? 

Your head dropped low. Because he was right. You would take what he gave you. Even if it was lies or castles built up in the sky. 

You were a fool. And you loved him. 

He slid his hand into your hair, grasping your curls. 

You were Smoke’s to play with. To have, hold, fuck and scold. You didn’t pretend you didn’t know it.

“Chin up.” You tilted your chin up and his grip on your curls tightened. 

“Good girl.”

You moaned.  

He kissed your ear before speaking. 

“This time I ain’t lyin’.” He kissed your cheek. 

This was feeling good. You were barley listening. He could tell you he could sprout wings and fly right now and you’d believe him as long as he didn’t stop. 

“I’m back for good. I did what I needed to do out in Chicago. For you. For us. We don’t never gotta worry about money ever again.”

“It was never about the money.” You managed to gasp out. 

“Shhhhh.” He coaxed. 

That was another thing that came up in the past. Smoke was money motivated. He didn’t understand that you just wanted him.  Nothing else. 

He never wanted to be under the control of another man because of some money. So he went and got him some. 

“I think…" He pondered for a bit before continuing.

"I think I’m gonna fuck a few babies into you tonight Annie. Your body was made for it. For me.”

Your walls immediately clenched onto him. 

“Gonna have a bunch of em fat and happy running all around this place.”

Tears dripped from your eyes. The pleasure, the visuals, the stimulation. It was all too much. 

He didn’t stop. 

“You want that baby girl? Want daddy to put a couple babies in you?”  

You wailed. Short circuited even. 

Because Smoke knew. He knew that’s all you ever wanted. Him. And a family. And he wouldn’t tease you about that. 

“Yes! Yes! I want — “

“Yeah? You gonna have to say please mama. You how I feel about them manners.” He grinned wickedly. 

How he managed to stay aware enough to play you like this was beyond your comprehension. 

“Please!” You wailed out. 

“Please what?”

“Please make me a mama!”

His finger slipped to your clit quickly and he watched your face in wonder as your orgasm washed over you.  

You clutched onto him desperately to prevent yourself from falling. 

“That’s my girl.” he hissed.  Before thrusting and unloading his seed right into you. 

—

It’s been a few hours and you and Smoke were laid out in a blanket on a cot on the floor. 

Drunk on each other. 

He had fed you peaches from the jar right from his hands and had quelled any fears you’d had about him leaving you again, from in between your legs. 

“If it’s a girl we gon' name her Amiyah. After my mama.” You whispered into his chest. 

He kissed your head. “Whatever you want.”  

“And if it’s a boy I wanna name him Erik Stevens.”

He furrowed his brow. 

“Erik Stevens? Where you get that name from?”

“I don’t know I just like it. You don’t like it?” You asked, looked up at him. 

He scoffed. “That sounds like the name of a bandit.”  

You pinched his skin between your fingers. “Hey.” You frowned. 

He looked down at your big brown eyes and melted. 

“You really like that name?” 

You nodded. 

“Aight, I can be convinced.” He brought you closer to him and you both just sat in silence basking in your love.

He scoffed again. “Erik Stevens…”

“What is your problem?” You asked perplexed. Fingers stroking his chest. 

“I don’t like it. He sound like a boy who ain’t go no manners.” 

“Oh brother.”  ___

I so enjoyed writing this. I hope yall enjoy!!

Taglist

@sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy

[jinwoosbabyboo]

“Where are you?”

LADS Men waking up and MC isn’t in bed.

Zayne

Zayne, calling MC: Where did you run off to?

MC: I didn’t run but I did walk to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea

Zayne: Oh

MC: is something wrong?

Zayne: No

MC: Did you think I disappeared?

Zayne: ….

Zayne: …..yes

MC: I’m coming back to bed now my love I’m sorry I scared you

Zayne: I was terrified

Rafayel

MC walking back into the room and Rafayel is awake sitting up on the bed pouting

Rafayel: Am I just a piece of fish ball to you?

MC: It’s 7 in the morning why are you starting already?

Rafayel: I woke up to a cold bed and no good morning kiss?

MC: Raf-

Rafayel: I called for you TWICE not a ‘fuck you’ ‘yes baby’ ‘how did you sleep’ NOTHIN

MC: I WAS PEEING !

Rafayel: WELL TAKE ME WITH YOU NEXT TIME

MC: Hard pass

Xavier

Xavier sleepily walking into the living room rubbing his eyes

MC: Well good morning sunshine

Xavier: Why did you leave me alone in bed?

MC: Well it’s 4 in the afternoon I thought you were going to sleep for the whole day again

Xavier: Come take a nap with me then

MC: You just woke up from a 18 hour slumber go eat and drink something you hermit

Sylus

MC enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchen.

Luke: Found her boss

Kieran: We’re bringing her now

MC: What—AHHH

Luke: *Grabs MC*

Kieran: *Grabs her tea*

Luke sets MC down in the doorway of Sylus bedroom and Kieran tucks her cup back in her hands before quickly disappearing down the hall

Sylus: Seriously? *Uses evol to drag her back in bed and sets her cup on the nightstand*

MC: Sylus!

Sylus: Do you really expect me to sleep without you?

MC: I was literally right downstairs

Sylus: too far.

MC: no.

Sylus: yes.

MC: no.

Sylus: yes.

MC: ….You’re acting like a child

Sylus: Don’t disappear like that again….

Visual for Sylus courtesy of @/karashimsms on twitter

Honorable Mention

MC to Luke & Kieran: I gotta get back before Sylus realizes I’m not in bed

Sylus: MC?

Sylus: …..

Sylus: MCCCCCCC

[lilirae00]

Drinks and Paige

Summary: One-shot: Azzi has a little too much to drink and the other UConn girls don’t know what else to do except to call Paige, who’s in Dallas. 

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, drunk Azzi, light mention of gagging/vomiting

Masterlist

—

Azzi didn’t plan on going out.

It was two weeks before the season began, and there were still early practices, team meetings, and shooting drills that left her arms feeling heavy and sore.

But Caroline had all but forced her. One last hurrah before we lock in, she'd said, pleading with those big brown eyes of hers.

And Azzi had caved.

At the moment, she was sitting at a cracked barstool at Ted's, surrounded by her teammates—Ice, Jana, KK, Sarah, Caroline—all of whom were determined to make the night count. The bar was packed with other students squeezing in one last round before the grind of the semester began. The bass was thumping just enough to rattle the glasses.

Azzi sipped her second drink very cautiously, already feeling the warmth in her cheeks. She wasn't a drinker. Not really. She liked being in control of her body, her mind. She didn't like the loss of that control, the feeling of having a drink and laughing too loud, or thinking too softly.

But tonight was different. It felt…final.

It was her last season at UConn. It would be the last months she’d spend with this exact group of girls—teammates who had become family. Every inside joke, every long bus ride home, every pre-game routine was creeping toward its inevitable conclusion. Before she knew it, she was going to be gone, off pursuing the next thing. 

A new town. A new team. A new life.

And what was so perplexing was that even though she was ready, even though she was excited— she had some lump in her throat that she couldn't manage to swallow down.There was something about this night that felt like a farewell in music and laughter. 

She caught a glimpse of Caroline, who was leaning over the bar ordering another round of shots, casually waving her credit card like she owned the place. Azzi shook her head, lips twitching despite herself. 

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She fished it out and tapped the screen with her thumb. 

Paige: Behave at Ted's, superstar.

Azzi: No promises. Love you.

Her chest squeezed her in that annoying, familiar way. Paige was in Dallas, in a different time zone, finishing her rookie season, probably already in bed with an ice pack on her knee. Azzi missed her with an ache that felt cellular. 

And not only in the I want to hear your voice kind of way. It was more substantial than that. She missed Paige in all the threads of her daily life—the locker room fun, the warmups, and the stroll from class to the practice facility. 

She missed the way Paige used to flip rubber bands at her in film sessions and the way she'd lean over during stretches and barely under her breath, tell some stupid joke that would get Azzi to laugh when she was trying to be mad.

UConn without Paige wasn't just quieter, it was lonelier. Paige was the reason she came here in the first place. When everything was still just possibility and nerves, it was Paige's voice that pulled Azzi forward, gave her confidence that everything would be all right, that they'd do it together. 

And for a while, they did. 

But now Azzi was finishing what they’d started—alone. And some days it felt like she was holding it all in her hands just a little too tightly, like if she loosened her grip even for a second, the whole thing would slip through her fingers. 

She was proud, of course. Of this team, this upcoming season…it all mattered. Yet, there was still a piece of her looking to the bench, sort of expecting to see Paige, chewing on her nails, bouncing her knee, mouthing encouragement back at her from across the way.

But she wasn't there. And she wouldn't be again.

And that weight settled on her harder than any alcohol would.

"HEY."

The shout pulled Azzi out of her thoughts like a slap. She blinked and looked up just in time to see Caroline's face arrive inches from her own, dark hair frizzing around her flushed-red cheeks. Caroline shoved a glass into her hand before she could react.

"To Captain Fudd!" Caroline proclaimed, too loud and too bright.

Azzi frowned. "I am literally sitting right here."

"Exactly!" KK shouted from across the room, holding up her own drink and crooked smile. "You're here. You don't get to be sober tonight. Cheers!"

The girls around them whooped in cheers, a jumble of arms and bodies standing too close together, the music thumping behind them like another heartbeat.

Azzi let out a breath through her nose and rolled her eyes dramatically. Still, she curled her fingers around the warm glass obediently, the cool liquid sloshing up to the rim. She could feel Caroline’s eyes on her, willing the flicker of competition to ignite. It always did. 

Azzi raised her glass with a practiced nonchalance, clinking it against Caroline’s—small but sharp, and the soft bubble of longing and nostalgia burst as she heard the ringing noise. 

“To the end,” Caroline said, quieter. There was again a flickering beneath the buzz of her voice, something real, at least. 

Azzi didn’t say anything. She knocked the shot back.

The burn hit her tongue first. Fast, hot, mean. Her face twisted without her permission as she swallowed, the alcohol lighting a path down her throat and into her stomach.

Caroline laughed, smacking her shoulder like someone who just hit a three. “There she is!" 

Azzi coughed, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, regretting it already. 

If she was being honest, she really only liked to drink when she was with Paige. Paige, who always made sure she ate first. Who never let her take a shot without water right after. Who kept a steady hand on the small of her back in crowded rooms. Who would tuck her into bed and pull her shoes off if she got too tipsy to remember how.

With Paige, drinking was safe. Easy. Something she could just give into.

But tonight, tonight felt too loose. The edge was frayed. The room was too bright. Too warm. Her chest was still heavy like a weight. She didn’t mean to unpack the weight of memories but Paige was hundreds of miles away, asleep in a different bed, under a different roof, living a different life. 

Safe wasn’t the word tonight. Exposed. 

So when someone handed her another shot, she took it without asking.

—

After that, they lost count of how many drinks they were on. 

Someone took the aux cord from the bar. Ice got everyone at the table laughing with a chant. KK told a story about the time a freshman tried to sneak into practice, and the whole table was in stitches. Azzi was snorting her drink out of her nose. 

For a little while, it was easy. 

She let herself laugh. Lean into Caroline’s shoulder. Let go of some of the weight she’d been carrying since summer. 

Then it got fuzzy. 

Caroline ordered another drink. 

Azzi blinked at it like it was a strange object. 

“Carol…I’m fine,” she grumbled, but Caroline was too busy hounding Ice about her pool game—or lack there of, it was hard to tell. 

Azzi made a move to leave it, but Jana bumped her hand. “C'mon, Captain. One more for good luck.” 

She made a face. It didn’t take much. It never really had. 

Thirty minutes later, Azzi was pretty sure the room was tilting. 

It wasn't spinning fast, more like swaying, as if she were standing on dock after getting off of a boat. 

A strange, slow kind of vertigo that made her feel detached from reality. Her vision pulsed softly at the edges. The lights overhead were too bright, and someone had turned the music up, or maybe it just felt louder in her skull.

Caroline was laughing at something that had come out of KK's mouth as her voice chipped away at the noise in sharp spurts, but it sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel. Azzi blinked like she was waking up or had just gone under a long spell, her eyes heavy and slow as she tried to bring everything back into focus. 

The heat in her cheeks had spread down her neck, into her chest. The pulse throbbed behind her eyes, in her jaw, even her teeth. 

She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead, her fingertips cool against the fever on her skin.

"Hey, Az," Caroline's voice drifted through the fog, a little closer than before. "You good?" 

Azzi turned toward her, her eyes glassy and unfocused. There was half a second that she just blinked, not comprehending the concern on her face as she sounded out her friend's name. Then she released a breathy hiccup and offered up a thin, crooked smile that was too late. "M'fine." 

Caroline's brow frowned, a confused frown. "Uh-huh." 

The lie rested limp in the air between them like a really bad balloon.

Azzi tried to swallow the lump struggling up her throat, but her lip was already betraying her—quivering like a fault line ready to crack. 

The heat behind her eyes felt like fire now, and she could feel the emotions threatening to spill over. She blinked hard, willing her body to get it into shape.

KK noticed before anyone else did. "Shit," she said as she breathed. "Is she crying?" 

Azzi sniffled, taking an immediate moment of turning away, her shoulders stiff. "No." 

But her voice cracked, and the denial collapsed with it.

"Azzi..." Caroline's hand found her shoulder—gentle, grounding, and careful to not make it worse. Her palm was warm, steadying Azzi's body through the chaos. 

Azzi let out another hiccup. This time, though, there were tears. Hot, shameful, and unstoppable—tracing down her cheeks before she could even try to blink them away. 

"I want Paige," she choked out, her voice hoarse and small. 

KK flinched like she had been slapped. "Aw, fuck." 

Caroline remained silent at first. She squeezed her shoulder, attuning her own expression to empathy. "Baby girl," she murmured, "remember? Paige is in Dallas." 

Azzi’s face crumpled. “I know,” she slurred, breath stuttering out of her lungs like it hurt to let go. “But I want her. I want… I want her to come get me.”

The last word cracked in two as it left her lips.

Her breath stuttered. Her entire body shook. 

She sounded like a kid again, the younger version of herself who had only ever known comfort as something that smelled like lavender lotion, Paige's hoodie and soft, dry hands on her back. 

Caroline reached for her too, rubbing slow circles in between her shoulder blades. "It's okay. You're okay. We've got you, Az." 

But Azzi wasn't listening. She let out another sob and did her best to swallow it down, but her stomach turned. Fast. 

"No. She always comes. She always—" 

And then she gagged. 

Her hand flew to her mouth. 

"Shit! Move!" KK barked, already halfway on her feet. 

They all scrambled to help Azzi stand and usher her toward the door, her legs feeling rubbery and not cooperating. Her face flushed, tears wet, and her stomach was already revolting. 

They barely opened the door before she was bent over on the sidewalk, vomiting into the night. 

Caroline crouched beside her without hesitation, one hand on her back the other bracing and holding her hair away and from her face. She murmured soft, meaningless things while Azzi sobbed and apologized in between dry heaves. 

"I'm sorry," Azzi gasped. "I'm so--God, I'm sorry--" 

KK hovered near in the background. She had a blank expression but her eyes were wide and her hands balled up. 

"Paige is gonna fucking murder us," she muttered to herself. 

Caroline didn't argue. Because she knew it was true.

—

When the Uber arrived, the driver gave them a look that suggested he was reconsidering all of his life choices that led him to this point. His eyes wandered over Azzi’s sagging frame, how her legs were tangled with Caroline’s as she half lay, half sat on the curb. 

For a split second, Caroline was sure he was about to lock the doors again and drive off without them. 

But he didn’t. And thank goodness, because Azzi was barely upright.

Azzi’s head lolled onto Caroline’s shoulder, her cheek pressed into Caroline’s jacket. Her face was damp, flushed, and streaked with the salt from her tears. She muttered things, half-thoughts and sentimental confessions that made everyone in the car want to burrow deep into themselves.

“I want her,” she murmured, her words slurring at the end. “I want Paige. Tell her… tell her to come get me.” 

Her voice cracked like glass.

Caroline’s stomach twisted. She continued to rub slow circles on Azzi’s arm, the only thing she could think to do.

“I know, Az,” she said carefully. “I know. She’s not here tonight, but we’ve got you. You’re safe, okay?”

But Azzi shook her head. Small. Fragile. Desperate.

“No,” she sobbed, her voice heavy with tears. “I need her. I just… I just want her. Please.”

KK glanced back to the group from the front seat with alarm in her eyes. Caroline caught the look and shook her head once, just a small motion. They had no idea what they were supposed to say. None of them did. 

Because Azzi had never asked for anything. She was the strong one. The composed one. The one who held the others together when they fell apart. Seeing her like this—falling apart, helpless, unraveling—was like watching a skyscraper sway. A pillar cracking down the center. 

When they pulled up outside the apartment, the brisk air hit them like a slap. It was all too cool and too quiet after everything that happened in the car ride home. 

Caroline climbed out of the car first and turned back to coax Azzi forward. She reached around her ribs and helped her gain footing, even though Azzi was staggering—her weight heavy and still fighting the help. 

Inside the apartment, it was worse.

Azzi whined when they tried to steer her toward the bathroom, digging in against Caroline's grip like a toddler refusing bedtime.

"No. Wait." Her voice caught. "Call Paige. Please. Please."

Jana froze in the doorway, pressing her lips together harshly. Ice's hands stilled on the back of the couch. 

Caroline's voice dropped to a hushed tone. "She's not here babe... She's in Dallas. You remember that, right?" 

Azzi’s face crumpled all over again, her features folding in on themselves as tears spilled freely. “She always comes when I need her,” she whispered, eyes wild. “She’s supposed to come get me.”

Caroline's heart cracked again during that night. "I know," she whispered. "I know she does."

But Azzi wasn't finished. Her breath came in short, uneven pulls. 

“I want her so bad,” she choked. “Her hands… her mouth… everything. I miss her body.”

KK let out a stifled cough. “Jesus CHRIST, Azzi.”

Jana blinked like she’d just been struck. “Okay, okay, whoa. We HEARD you. Calm down.” 

Ice looked like she was going to sink into the nearest closet.

Caroline bit the inside of her mouth, almost laughing through her tears, but smoothed her hand through Azzi’s hair with a tone bursting with exhausted affection. “Okay, babe. Maybe keep your commentary to yourself? I mean… I think we got the message. Loud and clear.” 

Azzi just shook her head harder, with tears spilling out of her eyes and running down her chin. “I just want her, Carol,” she sobbed, her words catching painfully in her throat. “No one else. Just Paige.” 

That hit hard. Caroline wrapped her tightly in her arms, lovingly massaging with one hand the back of Azzi’s head and holding the other hand there while she pressed her cheek into Azzi’s hair. She genuinely didn’t care how sweaty Azzi’s hair was or how much Azzi was crying or how completely she was falling apart. 

“I know,” she said, her voice catching in her throat, raw. “She’d be here if she could. I promise you.” 

Azzi’s sob rattled through her chest, like it was finding its way out. She melted into Caroline, her body shaking. 

KK wiped under her eyes, mumbling, “Fuck. Paige is gonna end us.” 

“Can you just get water and towels?" Caroline shot back sharply enough that it hurt in her ears. "Please?” 

KK and Jana took off, looking relieved to be given something to do. Caroline carefully led Azzi toward the bathroom, taking small, slow steps with her and murmuring to her in low tones. But just a few feet in, Azzi stumbled, breath hitching again. She gagged once, dry and painful.

“Okay,” Caroline said soothingly, leading her down to the ground next to the toilet. “You just breathe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Azzi folded down onto the tile floor, arms falling helplessly at her sides and head leaning back against the wall. Damp strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Her breath was ragged, wet, and shallow.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Caroline lowered herself beside Azzi, brushing sweaty curls away from her face.

“For what?”

Azzi blinked at Caroline, red-eyed and shattered. “For not being okay without her.”

Caroline caught her breath.

She wrapped her arms around Azzi and pulled both of them in for an embrace that rocked them gently together. Her voice cracked against Azzi’s hair. 

“You’re allowed to need her, Az,” she said in a whisper. “She knows you need her. She loves that you need her. And she would be here if she could, I swear to God.”

Azzi let out a sound that wasn’t even a sob anymore—just a broken, wrecked exhale, as if all of a sudden everything she had inside her would just float out of her body with that sigh.

Caroline held her tighter.

She knew what she needed to do next.

Caroline’s fingers trembled as she dug for Azzi’s phone in the front pocket of her pants, and it took her a couple tries to get it wedged free. Her other hand rested on Azzi’s back—still firm and strong together to help ground them both.

Azzi was still crumpled beside the toilet, folded in on herself. The uneven hits of air rushed in and out, each breath in hitching. The sobs had slowed, but not stopped—the wrecked little waves came up, and she didn’t even try to push them away anymore.

Her hair was still wet, tangled and stuck to her line of vision on her forehead. She hadn’t said one word in minutes, hadn’t even tried to push them away. She just kept shaking.

Caroline turned her head to glance at KK, who stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, pale and useless. Her voice cracked. “Can you find a wet rag?”

KK blinked like she just woke up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” She was gone down the hall in a sprint. 

Caroline looked down at the screen, and paused, her thumb hovering. Paige’s name was staring straight ahead at her from Azzi’s Favorites list, glowing cool and steady.

She didn’t ask for permission. She just hit FaceTime. 

It rang twice.

Paige’s face filled the screen all at once, soft lighting, couch in the background, takeout resting on balance on lap. She had her blonde hair pulled into a high, loosely held bun, soft strands falling around her face. She looked relaxed, happy, even.

“Hey baby—oh. Hey, Carol what’s up?”

Then she heard it. 

The ragged sound of weeping. The weak gagging from off screen. Then her entire body snapped to focus like a rubber band pulling her neck. Her brows pinched together, as Paige's soft expression vanished.

“Is that Azzi?” Her voice felt like a shovel cutting into the floor. “Caroline, what the fuck is going on?”

Caroline’s throat already felt raw. She shook her head, feeling the guilt settle in her stomach like burning coals. "She's... she's sick. She drank too much. Paige, I'm so sorry. She was fine and then she's just…she's a wreck." 

Paige's jaw tightened in response. Then her voice dropped into that low, dangerous register Caroline had only heard a few times before. "Put me on her. Now." 

Caroline didn’t argue. She shifted down beside Azzi again, holding the phone close to her as she crouched down low. The screen trembled slightly in her grip as she angled it toward Azzi who was lying crumpled up on the floor. 

Azzi didn’t even lift her head at first. Her face was blotchy, red, streaked with tears, and her lips parted and trembling. Her breathing came in little, shallow bursts. But when she finally turned and caught sight of the screen, something in Azzi's expression flickered. 

"Paige..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken. 

Paige's voice changed instantly. She leaned closer to the camera, all steel gone, replaced with something like desperate tenderness. "Hey. Hey, baby. Look at me." 

Azzi's chin wobbled. Her mouth opened as if she was trying to say something but all that came out was another sob. She curled in tighter. 

"I'm sorry," she cried softly. 

Paige's breath hitched, sharp and barely controlled. "No. No, baby. You do not have to be sorry. Just breathe, okay? You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

Azzi tried to take a breath, but it caught in her throat, and her body gagged again but nothing came up. 

“Come on. Deep breath,” Paige said softly, as if she was leading a child through a panic attack. “You can do it. I wish I was there. God, Azzi, I wish I was there. But Caroline’s got you. You trust her?” 

Azzi made the tiniest movement—a nod, so slight it was barely even perceptible.

Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat and brought the phone in a little closer. “She’s ok. We’ve got her.” 

KK returned with the cold towel and knelt next to them. Caroline took the towel from KK’s hands with a quiet thank you and let it rest gently against the back of Azzi’s neck. Azzi flinched a bit, but didn’t pull away. 

Paige watched closely. She followed Caroline’s every move, her lips parted like they wanted to say a thousand words. 

And then the expression changed. 

“Caroline,” she said, her voice tight.  

Caroline looked up. “Yeah?” 

“You know she can’t drink like that. She’s a lightweight. You’re supposed to take care of her when I’m not there.” 

The guilt rushed in, hot and quick. 

“I know, I know, Paige, I’m sorry, We didn’t mean to…we don’t even know how it got this bad.” 

Paige closed her eyes for a second and breathed through her nose. When she opened her eyes again, her face had softened, but the worry was etched in deep. 

“I know you didn’t. I’m not mad, I just...,” Her voice cracked. “I’m asking that you take care of her for me, like I would.” 

Caroline nodded hard. “I will. I promise.” 

Paige tilted her face to look back at Azzi, and her voice went down to something so soft it felt like a touch. 

“Hey,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Azzi’s whole face completely twisted. “Love you too,” she cried back. 

“I’m not hanging up,” Paige said. “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m staying with you, baby.” 

Azzi nodded and leaned into Caroline. Her whole body sagged like she was finally letting someone else hold what was weighing her down. 

Paige’s voice was a whisper. “We’re gonna get you through tonight, one step at a time.” 

And she did. 

She stayed on FaceTime the entire time Azzi got sick. She stayed while Caroline took Azzi’s sweat soaked clothes off and changed her into pajamas. 

She stayed while KK and Jana switched in and out with water bottles, crackers, and more towels. She stayed while Azzi went in and out of consciousness, sniffling and muttering Paige’s name like it was a prayer. 

And when Azzi finally passed out with her head in Caroline’s lap, her eyes were red and her lips were parted. Paige stayed silent and still and just watched. Because if she couldn’t physically hold Azzi, couldn’t wrap her arms around her and rub circles on her back and kiss the top of her head like she always did, this was the next best thing. 

Paige wasn’t going anywhere.

—

Azzi awoke sluggish, her limbs heavy and confused, as if her entire body was filled with wet sand.

Her mouth tasted like regret and cotton—it was dry and sour, and it was stuck around her tongue. Her head had a pulsing, miserable throb that sat just behind her eyes, beating in time with her heartbeat.

She blinked toward the window. The blinds were cracked, allowing for jagged strips of cold, overcast light to filter into the room. Her throat burned. Her tongue felt thick. Every muscle in her body ached, like she had been under a freight train.

She sighed quietly into her pillow, and for one blissful second she tried to forget...

But it all came rushing back

The cool tile of the bathroom floor. Her knees on the cold tile. The burn of tears down her cheeks. Caroline's voice saying it was okay. Paige's voice over the phone, calm, stable, far away.

Azzi recoiled, shame curling in her belly like spoiled milk.

"Hey."

Caroline's voice came from the doorway, soft and careful.

Azzi turned her face slowly, cracking her eyes open a little.

Caroline stood there with a glass of water and Tylenol, like some kind of hangover fairy-godmother. Her expression was kind, but unreadable. And from the looks of it, Caroline appeared to have been up just as late.

Azzi's voice was a croak, like gravel being dragged across pavement. "Kill me."

Caroline let out a breathy, exhausted laugh. She climbed across the room and sank down at the edge of the bed, handing her a cup of water.

Azzi pushed herself upright with a low grunt. Each movement of her body was stiff and resistant, like it was punishing her body for all that had happened. The sudden shift in elevation made her stomach lurch. Still, she was able to slowly sip water from the cup, convincing herself not to gag.

She could feel Caroline watching her. It was that calm, quiet gaze not missing a thing. 

“Don’t you dare start apologizing yet.” Caroline said gently, before Azzi even opened her mouth. 

But Azzi's lips wobbled anyway, and her voice cracked around the next word that was about to escape her throat. “Carol…”

Caroline shook her head, firm, but soft. “No. Don’t. We’re good. We’re all good.”

Azzi’s throat tightened and she scrubbed her palm across her face, trying to force her emotions back down. “I was such a mess.”

Caroline's face softened, something maternal flickering there. She reached out and rested her hand on Azzi's knee as a way to ground her.

“You were drunk. And sad. And missing your girl. That’s not a crime, Az.”

Azzi looked down at her lap, and the cup began to shake slightly in her hand. “I kept asking for her.”

Caroline nodded, quiet, without the urge to pass judgment. “Yeah, you did.”

Azzi swallowed hard. Her voice became smaller. “I don’t usually let it get like that. I don’t want to be that needy. I just…."

Caroline's expression turned fierce, protective. "Hey. Stop that. She's your person, Azzi. You're allowed to want her. That's the whole point."

Azzi blinked hard, but the tears still leaked anyway. She took in a ragged breath through her nose.

Caroline squeezed her knee again, this time more with utmost reverence. "You should know... she stayed on FaceTime all night. She wouldn't hang up. Not until you were asleep."

Azzi felt her chest crack wide open. Her breath caught. She pushed her hand to her mouth as if she could physically hold back the wave in her throat.

"She did?" The question barely broke her lips, and was barely stronger than a whisper.

Caroline nodded, her voice soft. "She watched you breathe, dude. I tried to get her to log off when you passed out, but she wouldn't. She said she would know if you needed her. Said if she couldn't come get you herself, this was the closest thing."

Azzi shut her eyes tight. One tear slipped free, trailing silently down her cheek. Caroline didn't rush her. She just kept her hand steady on Azzi's leg, thumb rubbing in slow, calming circles.

"I'm not telling you to make you feel worse," she said, voice forgiving and tone, relaxed. "I'm saying it so you remember who you have."

Azzi exhaled a long, broken exhale. "God, I love her so much it's pathetic."

Caroline snorted, watery-eyed. "She'd say the same about you, you know."

Azzi snorted something between a sob and a laugh. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, dragging it up and across her skin without much care. She inhaled deep, shaky, but fuller than before, then looked over to Caroline, glassy-eyed. "Thanks," she said quietly.

Caroline just smiled. "Always."

When Caroline stepped out, to give her a minute, the room fell quiet. Azzi sat there, in the rumpled sheets, still clutching the half a glass of water, with her heart aching in that sharp and quiet way, that only Paige had the capacity to trigger.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen was littered in missed messages, but she didn't look at them yet. She opened her messages and tapped on Paige’s name, her thumbs still clumsy and slow.

Azzi: I’m awake

Azzi: still feel like garbage but I’m okay

Azzi: I love you

The dots appeared before she even locked the screen.

Paige: thank god.

Paige: baby i’ve been checking my phone every 5 seconds

Paige: I’ve got practice this morning but i’ll call you the second i’m done

Paige: you sure you’re okay?

Azzi smiled softly, her head falling back against the headboard. Her body still ached and her eyes were raw, but the knot in her chest loosened just a little.

Azzi: Carol took good care of me

Azzi: still wish you were here though

For a moment, she let it sit there, her thumb hovering over the message. She didn't want to make Paige feel bad. None of this was her fault. 

Paige would have moved heaven and earth to be here, she knew that in her bones. 

Still. 

The ache remained. The empty space next to her, the silence following every sob last night, the way her body had reached for someone to comfort her, only to find crumpled sheets. 

She missed her in the way she'd miss air. In the way we miss something important. 

But she'd already asked for too much, hadn't she? So she didn't say any of that. She just flipped her phone over and firmly stared up at the ceiling in an effort to prevent herself from crying again.

Paige: me too baby

Paige: so bad

Paige: don’t move from that bed until i can see your face later

Paige: and don’t even THINK about skipping lunch

Paige: i love you

Azzi exhaled through her nose, heart warm and sore all at once.

Azzi: love you more. talk soon?

Paige: always.

Azzi set the phone down beside her and closed her eyes.

—

The next day, Azzi was feeling... alright. Not great. Not all together just yet. But alright. 

The worst of the hangover had worn off. The embarrassment had faded to a wince rather than a full body cringe. Caroline had refused to let Azzi frolic in her own pity for too long, taking her running off for coffee runs and gym sessions. 

It was now late afternoon. The apartment was in a state of disarray with takeout box remnants, empty Gatorade bottles, and KK's giant sneakers that no one could figure out how they made it to the middle of the floor. 

Azzi was curled up in the couch corner in sweatpants watching Ice and Jana argue over which of them cheated at Uno last night, and KK was loudly insisting that she won fair and square while Caroline just snickered from the arm of the chair. 

Azzi let herself laugh, quietly, and it felt good in her chest. 

That's when a knock came from the front door. 

The room froze instantly, like the world had been put on mute. Laughter ceased. The hum of the television turned to silence with the abruptness of the quiet. 

Jana twisted around to see what the knock was, her brows scrunching together. "Was somebody else coming over?" 

Azzi frowned, heart ticking up. "No, not that I know of." 

KK, halfway through opening another bottle of Gatorade, uttered. "I got it."  She tossed the cap on the counter and dragged herself up, complaining as she waddled to the door with the heavy footsteps like someone expecting a delivery or the neighbor to complain about the noise. Without ceremony, she wrenched it open.

And she froze.

Azzi registered the change immediately. The stiffness in KK’s entire body locked in place, shoulders bracing against the unseen weight of the unfolding scene. Her expression changed from confusion to something more rattled. Her lips parted as though she needed to say something, but no words came out.

“Uh… Azzi?” KK’s vocal tremor gave Azzi’s stomach a drop that felt like being on an elevator, hearing the lurch and grinding, wondering if the cables would hold. “It’s just, well…it’s for you.”

Azzi didn’t even get the opportunity to ask who it was before that someone passed by in front of KK and then made their way through the door.

Paige.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t pause. She just stepped through the threshold with a quiet urgency that made the whole room tilt.

Her eyes—sharp, wide, and wild with worry—darkened, landed on Azzi's and stayed there. Like somehow nothing was ever going to exist after that. Like somehow she took one look at Azzi and remembered how to breathe, finally.

Before Azzi’s brain had a chance to catch up to her body, she rose to her feet, her breath halting in her throat, and her chest twinged with something sacred, raw, and desperate all at once.

Slighly stunned, she had barely taken a step before Paige was already approaching her, and they collided. Her arms wrapped around Azzi, their bodies wrapping around one another like magnets for the first time finally touching.

Azzi could’ve cared less that her breath wavered or that her knees almost buckled. Paige held her through it. 

There were no words. Just the soft sound of Azzi’s exhale crashing against Paige’s shoulder. Just the way Paige buried her face in Azzi’s neck, inhaling like she could live off the smell of her skin alone. The room remained quiet around them. But no one broke eye contact.

When they ultimately pulled back far enough to see each other, Paige's eyes glistened with tears. Even still, she held Azzi in her arms, holding her grip like a lifeline, as if Azzi might vanish at the blink of an eye.

"Jesus Christ," Paige rasped, her voice strained and uneven, hardly loud enough to matter, more a breath than a sound. "I leave for five fucking minutes, and you forget how to handle your liquor?"

Azzi puffed out a soft laugh, which cracked and splattered watery emotion. "Shut up," she whispered weakly, but the tears again began to roll down her cheeks with little choice.

Paige kissed her forehead fiercely and held her tightly around the waist, as though she needed to physically feel Azzi's heart beating against her own before she would fully believe it was okay.

Paige's eyes lifted then, slowly looking around the room, her face shifting from softness to a taut look. Her gaze sharpened just enough for KK to reflexively step back.

"You were supposed to look after her," Paige said, and even without raising her voice, her tone sliced quietly through the room.

KK flinched, eyes wide and aghast. "I know," she said, small and defeated. "I'm sorry, I just didn't think—"

Paige finished her quickly. "You know that she’s a lightweight."

KK nodded, the cocky bravado gone. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry, P."

Paige's eyes moved slowly around the group...Caroline, Ice, and Jana, all suddenly still, all looking a little like kids who got caught doing something wrong.

"All of you," she said flatly.

Jana's mouth twisted. She lifted her hands, palms up. "We know," she said, thick with guilt. "We fucked up. We really are sorry."

Ice looked like she wanted to slip through the floor.

Paige studied them all for another beat and then let out a rough, exhausted sigh. The fire in her eyes dimmed a notch.

"I'm not even that mad," she muttered, her voice thinning. "I know you didn't mean to. I just..." She shook her head, jaw tight. "Fuck. I wasn't here."

Caroline stepped forward in a careful, deliberate way and gently placed her hand on Paige's arm, grounding. "We're really sorry, Paige," she said, her voice thick with regret. "We pushed her too far. It really won't ever happen again."

Paige held her gaze for one beat longer and then exhaled through her nose. She opened one arm and let Caroline hug her. Let the guard go down just a little.

"Thank you for taking care of her," Paige murmured into her shoulder.

KK shuffled over and slung her arms around them both with a grumble. "Fucking scary-ass girlfriend," she muttered, but it was affectionate enough.

Paige tiredly snorted. "Takes one to know one."

Jana and Ice inched in to give quick, awkward hugs before snagging their bags and jackets. The energy in the room shifted to a quiet, respectful mini-retreat. No one wanted to be there anymore.

Caroline hesitated near the door. She looked back to Azzi with a soft, knowing smile. "You good?"

Azzi wiped at her face, still clutching tightly onto Paige's hand. She nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

The door clicked shut behind them.

Azzi's shoulders sagged the second the door was shut like she had been holding herself upright from sheer will. Paige didn’t give her a chance to collapse.

She pulled Azzi back into her arms, hugging tightly, as if she could push all the broken pieces back together. 

“Hi,” said Paige, leaning into her hair, voice cracking with everything she wouldn’t say. 

Azzi laughed wetly, resting her forehead on Paige’s. “Hi.” A

And then, Paige kissed her—slow and tender. Nothing hungry about it. Just a quiet, steady press of lips that had missed each other more than they would ever say out loud. And when they pulled away, Azzi pulled back just enough to look at Paige’s face. 

“How the hell are you here?” 

Paige’s mouth turned soft and curled into a smile, even though her eyes still looked tired. “Got two days off. Hopped the first flight I could. I needed to see you.” 

Azzi swallowed, her throat thickening. “Paige…” 

Paige shook her head and brushed her thumb across Azzi’s cheek. “Don’t. Don’t say sorry. I wanted to come. I was scared to death, baby.” 

Azzi looked at the ground, letting her fingers curl into Paige’s hoodie. “But you have to leave tomorrow?” 

Paige nodded, but kept her hand cradling the shape of Azzi’s cheek. “Tomorrow night. But I would fly to the end of the earth even if I could only have thirty minutes with you. You should know that by now.” 

Azzi gave a broken laugh that turned into another sob, leaning into Paige like the pull of gravity shifted. 

Paige planted a kiss on the tear on her cheek. “Bedroom,” she said quietly, not a request, just a suggestion. 

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She simply pulled on Paige’s hand and walked down the short hallway with her feet acting on instinct. They flopped onto the bed together like two pieces of a puzzle finding their way back together. Paige wrapped herself around her, legs intertwined, arms like a vise. 

Azzi buried her face in Paige’s chest and breathed in the smell of her shampoo and skin. Paige put her chin on the top of Azzi’s head. “I never want you to cry like that again. Not because of me.” 

Azzi let out a shaky breath. “I just don’t want to need you so much.” 

Paige’s arms tightened around her. “You can need me,” she whispered fiercely. “That’s the deal.” 

That stung, and Azzi didn’t say anything, but nodded against Paige’s chest and let herself sink into all the safety that made up Paige. 

They stayed like that for a long time while the room hummed around them, with only the soft click of the radiator, the low buzz of people walking by outside, and the even rhythm of their shared breath. 

Eventually, Paige shifted just enough to lift Azzi’s chin with two fingers. “Look at me,” her voice low and sure. 

Azzi blinked slowly, and her big puffy eyes were still shimmering. Paige’s mouth curled into a soft and familiar grin that always made Azzi’s stomach somersault. “You didn’t think I came all the way here just to cuddle, do you?” 

Azzi laughed a laugh that broke halfway through, and then rolled her eyes. But her fingers were already twisting in Paige's shirt, bringing her closer.

Then she stopped and a clouded memory floated up to the surface.

“Oh god,” she groaned, her cheek turned red. “I think I told them I wanted your body.” 

Paige grinned, her teeth flashing. “You kind of did. Ice told me...and honestly, the highlight of my week." 

Azzi put her now flaming cheek against Paige's neck and groaned. "Shut up." 

Paige laughed, her mouth brushing Azzi's temple. "Not a chance." 

Azzi’s voice came out low and smooth, muffled against Paige’s neck. “Well… you did say you’d always take care of me.” 

Paige pulled back just enough to kiss her slowly with complete intention, like they both had all the time to be together. “I did,” she said softly, her voice laden with emotion. “And I meant it.” 

Azzi’s hands slid under Paige’s shirt, seeking warmth and skin. Paige responded, pulling her sweatshirt off in one smooth motion, their bodies already moving together like muscle memory.

A quiet breath. The rustle of clothes. Fingers tracing familiar paths.

A whispered “C’mere.”

A sigh.

And the quiet certainty that even 1600 miles apart, they’d always find their way back to each other.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru wants praise. constant, dramatic, over-the-top praise. and he’s not subtle about it.

he takes out the trash and comes back in with the air of a man who just saved the world. arms spread, chin up, dramatic sigh. “your husband has returned,” he says, expectant. you’re just trying to wash dishes, mind your business, but he’s hovering behind you like a six-foot-tall golden retriever who craves attention. he nudges your shoulder, taps your elbow, bumps your hip with his, until you finally turn around.

“kiss,” he demands, eyes wide and pouty. you blink. he leans in like it’s his right. “i touched the gross bag. i braved the outside. i faced the raccoon that lives near the bins. i deserve a reward.”

he folds one shirt—badly, you might add—and yells from across the hall, “baby! emergency! come here!” you run in thinking he’s set the kitchen on fire or broken a limb, only to find him standing like a proud peacock beside a wobbly stack of laundry.

“look at this craftsmanship,” he says, holding up a towel like it’s the last supper painting. “behold my glory. where’s my trophy? my parade? my standing ovation? did the mayor call yet?”

he pours water into the pitcher—without spilling it, mind you—and turns to you with the smuggest little smirk known to man. “tell me i’m sexy.”

“...you filled the brita.”

“exactly. domestic and desirable. say it with your chest.”

and you do, because unfortunately for you, you’re hopelessly, irrevocably in love with this ridiculous, praise-hungry man. so you coo. you clap. you kiss his cheeks and ruffle his hair and call him your strong, brave househusband. you dramatically wipe a fake tear and tell him how lucky the world is to witness his greatness. you whisper that he’s the hottest man alive for sorting the recycling. and he eats it up. full sparkling eyes, puffed-out chest, giggling like a schoolboy in love, throwing his arms around you like he’s just scored the game-winning point.

he starts making up tasks just to fish for more. he'll tighten a jar lid and then call for you, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. “babe. babe. i saved the pickles. tell me i’m amazing.”

you try to tease him—“what, you want a gold star every time you do a chore?”

he doesn’t even blink. “yes. and a kiss. and a snack. preferably hand-fed. preferably while you tell me i’m a gift to mankind.”

“you’re impossible,” you huff, already reaching for the cookies and cupping his ridiculous face in your hands.

and he just grins, because he knows. he knows you’ll give in every time. because it’s only fair—he does praise you like a goddess when he’s got you in bed, murmuring sweet things like you hung the moon and stars and he’s the luckiest man alive. he’ll have your name spilling from his lips like worship, hands reverent, voice full of awe. so why shouldn’t you tell him he’s the hottest man on earth when he unclogs the sink?

he pouts if you don’t. preens when you do. flashes you that pretty smile and says, “i’ll do more chores if you promise to thank me with moans next time.”

you smack his arm, but your face is already heating up. because god, he’s stupid. and charming. and annoyingly good at getting what he wants. it doesn’t help that you’re just as down bad.

ugh. disgusting. you love him so much it’s embarrassing.

[science-hoes]

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

Description: Robby comes in on his day off with a minor injury, and the Reader ends up much closer to him than she had anticipated.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—

The Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

--

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

[eomayas]

distracted • hjs

pairing: husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! fluff, parent au, non-idol au

synopsis: reader is literally just feral for joshua

warnings: pwp, p in v, oral (m receiving), riding, praise, dirty talk, soft!dom!josh, breeding, josh calls reader a ‘slut’ (lovingly) once, reader & josh are parents, reader losing her mind over josh mainly. JOSHUA ARMS. unedited ;)))

a/n: i’ve experienced extreme joshua brainrot lately then did an extreme deep dive of jarms (joshua arms) until 2 in the morning. i am unwell and need him like a fish needs water

joshua pushes the shopping cart that holds groceries, and your daughter in the front of the basket, down the aisle. you trail a step or two behind them, mind a bit foggy and… distracted. you don’t know what it is, he’s just wearing a plain, white tshirt and blue jeans—he’s worn it before—and you’re running errands together like you always do. but today is different, and you can’t seem to comprehend a single thing going on around you, or really look at your husband without feeling mild insanity.

first, you’d wandered into the store in a daze, forgetting that joshua was grabbing the shopping cart with your daughter, after having sat in the front seat watching him drive for twenty minutes. his hand sat steady at ten and two, ever the safe driver when your daughter was present, though at stop lights he would sometimes grab your hand or settle his palm on your leg. you felt lost since the morning, woke up with your mind cloudy and your brain foggy just at the mere sight of him.

then, you couldn’t remember a single thing on your grocery list. in your clouded state, you must’ve forgotten the list in the kitchen; it wasn’t a big deal, except for the fact that you literally couldn’t think about a single thing that you needed to buy, and you are usually the one leading the pack around the store. so the three of you have been wandering around the grocery store for longer than you want to be, circling back to the same aisles you’ve already been on because you can’t remember what it is you need to buy.

now you’re back in the dairy aisle, unsure of why you’re back because youve already grabbed milk and cream cheese, so you’re just standing in front of the cold, double doors without a single thought in your head. “yogurt, maybe?” joshua tries, pausing his conversation with your child to help you out. you blink once, twice before mumbling out a ‘right’ and pulling the doors open and grabbing a container.

“mommy, that’s not the right one!” your daughter whines when you drop it in the basket. she’s frowning at you, eyebrows crinkled the same way joshua’s do. god. you make the mistake of looking up at him, and your entire body flushes you meet his gaze. his eyes are soft but questioning, asking if you if you’re alright without actually saying it. no, i’m not, you think to yourself, discreetly sweeping your hand up your neck to check your pulse. it’s fast, and you’re definitely still alive.

joshua watches you with mild concern; he’s noticed your strange, avoidant behavior since this morning when he got back from the gym. you had looked almost surprised when he walked into your bedroom, like you weren’t expecting him back. your eyes widened, and your lips parted like you were going to say something but nothing came out. he beat you to words, anyway, giving you a soft ‘good morning’ that made you blush—he’d ignored it because you seemed… off—and kissed you on the lips. he thought he really smelled with the way you rushed your lips off of his and rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet. joshua grabbed you so you wouldn’t fall, and he felt you tense in his hold, a frown etching on his features. he brushed it off and asked if you wanted to shower with him, expecting a ‘yes’ from the look that flashed through your eyes, but you instead mumbled something about having to make breakfast before hurrying out of the bedroom all together. you basically avoided him all day since then, never really looking at him or talking to him directly—none of which you do on a constant basis.

the yogurt was, in fact, incorrect down to the brand and flavor. “i’m sorry, baby,” you say to your daughter, running a hand over her hair before grabbing the yogurt to swap it out for the correct one, this time taking a few seconds to scan everything in the fridge. you appreciate the cold air from the refrigerator, as it cools you down from the rush of heat you feel along your face and neck. you take a breath and tell yourself to get a fucking grip before dropping the correct item into the cart.

“daddy, can i get ice cream?” your daughter asks joshua as you start ambling through the grocery store. you cut your eyes at your daughter for not asking you, but you know it’s because joshua never says no to her.

“of course, princess,” and you watch with pure adoration as he places a kiss on her forehead and she just giggles, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears. joshua is a good husband, but he’s an even better father, and you love watching him interact with your daughter. they have a special connection that you love to witness, a secret language just between the two of them. it’s moment like this where you want another kid—or maybe it’s part of the hazy mess you’re in because of his sheer existence.

you follow behind joshua towards the ice cream aisle. the shirt he wears is tight on him, straining against his biceps and shoulders. you can make out his back muscles depending on how the light hits the fabric, and you feel even crazier than before. his muscles have been the source of your you distracted state today. joshua has always been muscular, and he’s always worked out, but something about him recently has flipped a switch in your brain that has made you feel absolutely feral every time you catch a mere glimpse of his arms—which is quite literally every day. this morning it was too overwhelming, him coming home and shedding his jacket to reveal himself in a simple black tank top that looked a size too small, and gray sweats that made you feel like you needed to go to confessional.

another rush of cold air pulls you out of your lustful daze and you stand at the back of the shopping cart as joshua shuffles through the cartons of ice cream, asking your daughter her input. you try to keep your eyes focused on your daughter, anything else, but cant help when they drift over to your husband, his arms flexing each time he grabs a pint and displays it to your daughter. joshua casts a glance at you, a smile that says can you believe this? when you daughter shakes her head for the fourth time, despite not asking to look for herself. you blush under his gaze, heat spreading down your neck and chest before settling in your stomach.

"i thought you liked the oreo one?" you say to your daughter, voice slightly hoarse. you smooth a hand over her hair to give yourself something to do, hands a little clammy from all of your nerves working overtime.

"i do..." she trails off, turning to look at you with a tiny pout on her lips.

"tell daddy before he freezes," you say, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. just the mere reference to joshua feels heavy in your mouth, makes your stomach flutter for reasons you can't really explain.

joshua places the pint of oreo ice cream into the cart, circling around to the front and playfully ticking your daughter under her chin. she giggles loudly and you smile as you watch her become a spitting image of her father. arms cage you between the carts handlebar and a firm chest, and suddenly your eyes are no longer on your kid but on the strong, veiny forearms that belong to your husband. “excuse me,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice like he knows that you’re losing your mind at the simple sight of him.

wordlessly, you gently grab his right arm to remove yourself from his entrapment. “hey,” joshua says softly, reaching out for your wrist as you move swiftly to get away from him. turning, goosebumps arise on your skin, and you tell yourself that it’s because his hands are ice cold. “you okay, honey?” your stomach flips and you press your lips into a small smile, nodding.

joshua stares at you for a beat before leaning down a few inches, silently begging for a kiss. you nearly combust at the thought, not trustworthy of yourself to behave normally in public. but his eyes are fond, and you love him so much and want him so bad that you raise up on your toes and brace yourself on his shoulders before delivering a soft, quick peck to his lips. you’re proud of yourself for holding back, but joshua isn’t satisfied because he stays leaned over in the spot you kissed him in for a few seconds after the fact that you’ve pulled away. if you were at home, he’d yank you back to him but because you’re in public he files that grievance away and straightens up.

“i want a kiss,” your daughter pouts, cutely crossing her arms over her chest. since she doesn’t specify from whom, both of you lean in and press kisses to her cheeks. her giggle ripples through you, filling your stomach with butterflies and your chest with a type of love reserved only for her. you’re momentarily pulled away from your joshua shaped daze, until his hand is settling on your lower back. it chilling, his touch, and it’s not because his hands are ice cold from standing in the grocery store freezer for two minutes.

a shiver runs up your spine and you slip out of his grasp, not paying attention to where or what you’re walking into until joshua is pulling you back into him, his hand splayed across your stomach and your back colliding with his chest. “babe, watch out,” a woman pushing a cart stops short, a look of remorse on her face.

“oh my god, did i hit you?” she asks, and you figure you must look injured or something, because she looks genuinely concerned for your wellbeing. the flush on your face is not due to the fact that you were almost ran over, but because joshua hasn’t moved his hand from your stomach and hasn’t put any distance between your back and his front. he stays pressed against you, holding you firmly in front of him, his hold tightening ever so slightly.

“n-no, i’m alright,” you manage, lips tingling. “i swear.” you add when her eyebrows don’t drop from her hairline. at that, she seems to believe you enough snd offers you a smile and a curt nod before hurrying down the aisle.

“are you alright, honey? you’re trembling,” joshua says, his deep voice like melted wax running down your back. you make the mistake of looking up and over your shoulder at him, his palm pressing into your lower belly.

he peers down at you with soft eyes, ready to question you again until your tongue darts out to wet your lips before you tuck your bottom lip under your top one and nod. he knows the look in your eyes all too well—hunger, but not for food—and heat pools in his chest. joshua is much better at hiding his desire for you, especially in public and in front of your child, and he’s able to keep his expression the same, pretending he never saw that look in your eye. “i’m fine,” you’re shuffling away from him again, this time checking to make sure you’re not seconds away from being ran over with a shopping cart.

somehow, you three mange to finish your shopping trip without anymore mishaps. it requires circling back to the same aisles more than once because neither you nor josh can remember what you wanted to buy, but at least you can say you’re done. joshua loads the groceries into the trunk while you buckle your daughter into the backseat. she yawns, stretching her little arms up and out. “sleepy?” you ask her, a small smile on your face.

“no,” she says, vehemently shaking her head. you chuckle hum a sound of disbelief before dropping a kiss on her forehead and going to the front seat. the trunk closes and you suck in a breath as you watch him in the rearview mirror. he brushes his hand through his hair, and even through the mirror and the tint of the trunk window, you can make out his bicep muscle flexing with the motion.

it’s nearly pathetic how horny you feel just looking at him—like an overgrown teenager who just got into their first relationship. except you’re an adult, married to this man, and this behavior is no longer considered ‘cute’.

joshua gets into the front seat and smiles at you, leaning over the console to give you a kiss. his hand rests on the side of your neck, and you wonder if he’s trying to check your pulse, to mess with you. you keep your hands to yourself, because if you touch him, you might never stop.

pulling back from your mouth, he looks into your eyes before flicking them back down to your lips. joshua starts to lean in but seems to remember you’re not alone, and sits back in his seat, his hand lingering on your neck for a moment before he starts the car and asks your daughter if she’s ready to go.

the car ride is quiet, save for your daughters yawns and insistence that she is not tired. she makes most of the noise, talking about random things that you and joshua entertain with ease. he watches her in the review mirror with real, unconditional love in his eyes. it does nothing to help your situation, and just makes you want to give him another baby.

when you arrive back at your house, you quickly get out of the car, grateful to get out of the stuffy, suffocating feeling of being in the front seat. you walk around the back and help your daughter out, ready to carry her inside until she exclaims, “i want to help!”

you ser her down on the ground and she runs over to joshua. you watch him give her two of the lighter bags of groceries, and raises her arms to show you, a big smile on her face. you smile back and press in the garage code and tell her to go inside of the house, seemingly leaving you and joshua alone. you sidle up next to him, and joshua lightly bumps his hip into yours. “hmm?” you question without looking up from the numerous bags in the back of the car.

“why are you avoiding me?” he asks, and the directness makes your hands clam up.

“i’m not avoiding you,” you say, taking a few grocery bags and backing up from him.

“you quite literally are.”

you stare up at him, his eyebrows knitted together in slight irritation. “i still love you, if that’s what you’re asking,” you clarify. his features soften and his shoulders relax a bit. those shoulders. your eyes drifts down his figure, lingering on his flexed forearms, veins bulging out from the tension of carrying the grocery bags.

joshua watches you obviously ogle and check him out, his entire figure relaxing at his realization. “oh, i get it now,” he teases, a slow smirk sliding across his lips.

“get what?” you play dumb, taking a tentative step backwards before turning around and trying to keep your walk casual as you walk through the garage. it’s so obvious you’re trying to keep space between the two of you, putting anything in the way to keep you off of him.

“that you wan-“ joshua cuts himself off because you push open the door that leads you into the house. he clears his throat and closes the garage door before following behind you into the kitchen. your daughter is standing on her tippy toes trying to reach a cupboard that’s way to high for her, concentration etched on her face. “need help, bub?” he asks, setting his bags down on the counter.

“i can’t reach,” she whines, yawning immediately after. joshua lifts her up into his arms and opens the cupboard for her abd allows her to put the item away. “i’m tired, daddy.” she rests her head on his shoulder, tiny arms encircling around his neck.

you watch them and you feel your heart grow three times in size, like the grinch. joshua coos at her and pats her head before agreeing to put her down for a nap. you busy yourself with unloading the groceries, stomach flipping at the thought of having at least an hour alone with your husband. you can’t believe how depraved you feel.

joshua comes back downstairs a few minutes later, right when you’re putting the last thing into the fridge. “you finished?” he asks. you nod, heart hammering in your chest as he walks over to you. his hands drop onto your hips, pulling you flush against him. you keep your eyes straight ahead, leveled wirh his chest, and joshua dips his head down to meet your eyes. “see: you’re avoiding me.”

hear creeps up your neck and you shake your head. “i’m not.”

“don’t try to gaslight me,” he teases, making you roll your eyes and finally look up at him. “there she is.” he murmurs, leaning down a few centimeters to connect your lips. your hands flatten against his chest, and he walks your backwards into one of the kitchen counters. joshua leans over you, trying to press you flat against the surface despite the lack of space.

“shua,” you breathe once you pull away when he unbuttons your jeans.

“what, you’ve got somewhere better to be?” he asks, arching one of his eyebrows.

“i… i have to do laundry…” you say halfheartedly. joshua laughs at this, dropping his forehead against yours. “i’m serious!” you say, but you’re smiling too. “i want to go back to avoiding you.”

joshua pulls back to look down at you, making a face that says for what? “i thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“yeah, i’m afraid nothing will keep me off of you if we start,” you say honestly. joshua blushes deeply, a boyish grin on his face. “i want you so bad—i think i might be ovulating? i don’t know. i just want you so. bad.” you punctuate the last part with the press of your knuckles into his chest.

“you’re ovulating?” it’s like bells went off in his head.

“maybe, i don’t know. i don’t keep track of that shit. i just need an explanation for how i feel,” you say, hands sliding along his chest absentmindedly.

joshua raises both of his eyebrows at you, fake shock on his face. “maybe because you have a super hot and sexy husband who is also a really good father? just a hunch.”

“no, i don’t think that’s it,” he rolls his eyes at you and you giggle, balling his shirt up into your fists and pulling him down to you. joshua grips onto the counter to steady himself, his hold tight enough to turn his knuckles white. he presses his pelvis into yours, his his erection pressing against your leg.

joshua wraps an arm around you and splays his hand across the small of your back. he presses you down onto the counter and you grip his shoulders tightly, craning your mouth away from his to breathe out, “not here.” he pulls you up from the counter and looks down at you, his chest moving up and down quickly. you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about a place to fuck you that won’t bring attention to the two of you. “laund-ah!” he swoops you up into his arms easily, already carrying you in the direction of your laundry room before you can even get the entire word out.

you wrap your legs around his waist as you buzz with need and anticipation. you let yourself revel at being carried by him after lusting over his arms all day. he carries you like you’re weightless, with his his hands resting under your ass for support. “god,” you whisper to yourself, pressing a kiss into his neck.

“i love you,” he rasps as he enters the laundry room. he shuts and locks the door behind him before dropping you onto the washing machine. his hands are flying to undo the buttons of your blouse and you pull him closer using your ankles that are still wrapped around him.

“love you more,” you murmur, helping him with removing your top. “your turn.” your urge, pulling the hem of his shirt.

“sure you can handle it?” he teases. you flush and lightly push at his abdomen. “don’t wanna make you pass out or anything.” he smirks at you, loving to watch you squirm.

“i can handle it,” you say, feeling so embarrassed to even be in this position. luckily, joshua is sweet to you above all and draws you in for a kiss. you skate your hands up underneath his shirt, nails lightly scratching against his torso. “take it off.” you mumble against his lips, hands pushing up the material of his shirt. you feel like you could rip him out of the fabric.

joshua pulls back and makes an entire show of getting undressed. he runs a hand through his hair and purposefully flexes his bicep as he does so. if this was any other time, you’d roll your eyes and call him annoying. but today, all you can do is watch and try not to drool.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into an empty laundry basket nearby. you waste no time leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. you move to kiss his jaw and then his neck, your hands sliding down his body. you kiss across his chest, going lower until the position becomes uncomfortable. lightly shoving him, you hop off of the washing machine and drop to your knees in front of him.

joshua watches you with dark eyes, holding onto the edge of the machine. you fumble with his belt, hands shaking with anticipation of finally having him, and he makes no effort to help you out. your hands work too fast, and you mess up when you try to pull the buckle open for the second time. “i’ve got all day,” he say smugly. you ignore him, and finally pull his belt free. you work his pants down to his ankles, leaving. him in just his briefs. you let out a breath and look up at him with pure lust. “as pretty as you look right now, you’d look much better with my cock in your mouth.”

quickly, you pull his underwear down and let them pool together with his pants, hands flying to grab ahold of his member. you pump him a few times, flicking your eyes to look up at him. joshua gives you a slight nod, signaling you to start sucking, and you eagerly oblige. sticking your tongue out, you lick up the precum that dribbles out of the tip before you wrap your lips around the head and push him into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you go. a groan escapes joshua’s mouth and he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

you drag him into your mouth inch by inch, your eyes never once leaving his. his chest heaves up and down, moving faster and faster the closer you get to taking him all the way. tears prick in your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you keep going until your nose nearly presses into his hips. “shit,” he whispers, leaning more of his weight into the washing machine.

you bob your head up and down, pulling back and stroking what doesn’t fit. you swirl your tongue around the tip, cheeks hollowing to create more suction when you suck on the tip. joshua moans lowly above you and tells you how good you’re doing. his eyes flutter shut, squeezed shut in pleasure and his chin drops down to his mouth. you want his eyes on you, want him to watch you as you make him feel good, so you purposefully scrape your teach against his dick to get his attention.

his eyes fly open as he jerks back from you, glaring at you when you smile around him. “brat,” he spits and tightens his grip on your hair. you sigh through your nose and press your thighs together, cunt throbbing with need. you keep bobbing your head, speeding up slightly and taking more of him into your mouth. when joshua presses your head down, you relax your throat and let him take control, hands moving to hold onto his thighs. “good girl.” he grunts, holding your head down on his dick for a few seconds until you gag, and then he pulls you off of him.

he does this a few more times, his cock twitching against your tongue. tears gather in your eyes but you power through, determined to make him cum. he pulls you down onto him, cursing each time he hits the back of your throat. “fuck, you take me so well. i’m c-close,” tears slip down your cheeks and mix in with the spit and cum. your face is a mess, but neither of you care.

joshua fucks his cock into your mouth, holding your head steady in his hands. you dig your nails his thighs to combat the ache in your jaw. he thrusts into your mouth until he can’t take the feeling of your warm mouth around him anymore, his cum shooting into the back of your throat. you keep your mouth open to catch all of his seed, some of it gathering around the corner of your lips. “s-swallow,” he demands when he pulls his cock away from your mouth.

you obediently swallow, and he whines in the back of his throat. “goddamn, i love you,” he holds his hands out to you and helps you up onto his feet. he wipes the corners of you lips with his thumb and shoves it into your mouth, lips parting when you suck on his thumb like you just did his cock. “youre such a slut.” he murmurs, a loving gaze in his eyes.

a trail of saliva connects your lips to his thumb when you pull it out of your mouth. “promise?” you ask.

joshua smiles and pulls you into a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. his hands make use of unbuttoning your jeans and shoving his hands down your pants. your panties are damp, and he’s a bit shocked and honored that you’re this wet for him. “i need you,” you whine, peppering kisses down his neck. you don’t even want his fingers, just want him inside of you.

“i know,” he rasps, slipping a finger between your folds. you shudder when he touches you, his finger playing with your arousal and brushing over your clit, just to make you jump. you clench around nothing, and it’s nearly painful how turned on you are.

“joshua!” you whine, nipping at his neck. his hand immediately grabs onto your hair and yanks, a hiss emitting from your lips followed by a smirk.

“needy brat,” he grumbles, walking the two of you over to the work bench in the room. he drops onto it and spreads his legs invitingly. you quickly step out of your jeans and underwear, his eyes roaming over your body. “you’re a beautiful, y/n.”joshua says sincerely; at the end of the day, he is simply a lover boy.

you smile at him and quickly drop yourself onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. you reach between the two of you and position yourself over his cock. his hands grip onto your hips tightly and guide you down onto him, bottom lip drawing in between his teeth.

“ah-fuck!” you cry when you sink onto the tip, the initial stretch rippling through you.

“you’ve got it, baby,” he encourages, thumbs rubbing sift circles into your hips. you bite down on your bottom lip, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders as you sink lower and lower onto him. “goddamn, girl.” he grunts, hips bucking when you clench around him.

when you manage to take all of him, you sit still and catch your breath, head resting on his shoulder. joshua unhooks your bra and you lean back to slide it off your arms. “you okay?” he asks, hands groping your chest.

“uh huh,” you rasp, taking it as a sign to start fuckign him, licking your lips and raising your hips before dropping onto his lap. “fuck, shua.” whimpers leave you lips as you fuck yourself onto him, using his shoulders as leverage to move yourself up and down. joshua relaxes into the wall, his grip on your hips loosening as you gain momentum and find a rhythm.

“you’re so tight,” he groans, one of his thumbs finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive nub. “been thinking about fucking you all day.” joshua sighs and rubs your clit quicker, eyes peering up to watch your facial expressions. “you need me as bad as i needed you?” he mumbles, voice low and husky.

“more,” you pant, still bouncing up and down on him. your cunt clamps around him like it’s trying to keep him there. “shuaaa!” you whine, thighs burning. you sit on his lap, rolling your hips into his.

he chuckles breathlessly, rolling his other thumb over one of your nipples. “yeah? tell me,” he grins at you devilishly, this side of him only coming out in your intimate moments.

“so bad,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. “w-wanna give you a-another baby.” you squeeze around him involuntarily, a knot forming in your stomach. joshua twitches inside of you at the mention of having another child.

“yeah? want me to fill you up?” you whimper and nod, legs starting to shake. “want me to fuck you full of my cum until you’re pregnant again?” he lets go of you breast to place both hands underneath your ass. he lifts you up and drops you down, a show of his strength as he fucks you up an down onto him.

joshua grumbles filthy things into your ear; tells you that he’s gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, that he’s gonna stuff you full, that’s he’s going to give you another baby tonight. “f-fuck! i-im gonna cum,” you cry, throwing your head back in pleasure. he bucks his hips up into you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you repeatedly.

spots blur your vision and your cunt spasms around him as you reach your climax. it hits you like a thousand bricks, and you’re shaking in his arm and crying out his name. you expect him to stop, but he keeps thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm further. you can hardly think through the waves of pleasure, which is why you hardly register that he’s lifted you up until you’re placed on a cold surface.

joshua drags you to the edge of the washing machine and slams his cock into you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. “o-oh my god,” you gasp, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time tonight. “you feel so good!”

he drives his hips into you brutally, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. “f-fuck, i’m not gonna last,” he groans, dropping his head into your neck. he kisses your skin and lightly bites, though not hard enough to leave marks. you cling to him, arms secured around his shoulders like you may fall if you dont hold on.

his thrusts get sloppier by the second, indicative of his nearing climax. “i love you,” you breathe, nails clawing at his back. he grunts, whining out curses as he cums inside of you, his dick twitching between your walls. he stills, fingers applying bruising pressure to your hips.

after a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. he presses his lips to your gently, sighing against you as he goes soft. “shit,” he pants, followed by a light chuckle.

you can’t help but giggle back, running a hand through his hair. he doesn’t want to pull out, not yet at least, wanting to make sure his cum stays inside of you as long as possible. he lets go of your thighs and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you into his chest. you kiss the column of his throat, right on his adam’s apple and rubs soft circles into your back.

“we should clean up,” he murmurs, starting to draw back from you. you make a sound of disagreement and squeeze around him on purpose. “b-brat.” he stammers, curling away from you.

he pulls out of you with a lewd squelch, both of you turning light shades of pink at the noise. he helps you off of the washer and you lean against it. he finds a random towel and comes back to wipe between your legs before cleaning himself off and tossing it in the same basket he threw his shirt in. “i guess i could start a load,” you say, looking at all of the discarded clothes, making joshua laugh.

he helps you gather them up and drop them into the washer. you add in the detergent and slam the top closed. except, when you go to start the washer, joshua places a hand on your back and presses you flat against the washer and slots his knee between your legs to spread them open. you don’t get a chance to prepare yourself because he’s pushing into you again, a strong arm wrapping around your middle to hold you steady as he fucks into you from behind, determined to get you pregnant tonight.